a not-so-petty quarrel
Sarah. I am about as cool as Death Valley in July. There is no coolness here. No. All the penguins have been carried away by buzzards and vultures. Are buzzards the same as vultures? Anyway, the penguins have been carried away by winged predators. And there is nothing but the tick tock and time of passing melting into June July and the slow drag of a summer's disappearance. I miss a woman's dress caught in the slow whirl of Sunday's steeple. The way the bells keep ringing out into the stillness of an afternoon. The way the pages of a novel keep ringing out into the stillness of a life that keeps beating all the grey firey stillness of a car thief too drunk for thinking, the way the sun gathers shadows into its own falling.