30-3
He stood, wobbling, before me.
He spoke of opera and far-flung places.
His tiny, leashed dog leapt up my legs.
I wondered what story brought him to the cathedral doorway.
He spoke of opera and far-flung places.
His tiny, leashed dog leapt up my legs.
I wondered what story brought him to the cathedral doorway.
posted by MB at 3:03 PM
10 Comments:
I like the mystery, the questions this arouses in me. Especially curious are the numbers.
So happy to see you back, MB, hope everything is well.
Thanks for the visit, MB. I've been enjoying listening to The Heard lately.
Yes, very mysterious. What story?, indeed.
Very deft. ...So nice to see you!
This is a new voice for you, indeed!
--I like it--it takes me somewhere else...
And I imagine this in response:
"She stopped, a young oak, a tree-spirit.
I was compelled to tell her about my travels, the opera.
Sascha leapt at this dryad while my stories poured out; then, alas, she was gone."
;-)
I could never tell
how factual his stories
still I loved to hear.
Stories of hunger and winter, need for a bed and a place to warm his hands.
Wow! This short gem was worth the wait!
curious about the words and you. hope you have had a good 2008 so far.
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