Surely, I carry enough madness for the long voyage, having packed enough pieces, and left some, devilishly scattered about, to make for you a puzzle. From the railing, I scatter some upon the waves like fish bait. They rise and eat and I leave.
Immune to the affliction of telling anyone what I know, I know nothing except that I am a fuzzy form of human animal who will one day die.
For a time, I walked to and from walls of gray sandstone beneath birds of stone. The building is hollowed out now. Only the birds remain. If you approach, as I do sometimes, to paint from memory, they flit between the apertures.
No one is there but the birds, but whoever escapes the childhood home?
A giant goose commands the scene. A horned creature holds a broomstick. Three hooded figures at the table, one in dark glasses at the stove, the red-robed figure at her feet. Corn upon the metate to be ground and served with the fishes the nuns ride in upon.
At the hour of the Angelus, they sing the wild anemones from the woods. I go again to greet them.
Quite the tribute. I enjoy Carrington, and I enjoyed your take too – very much in her style.
Chris, thank you this generous take. It makes me smile. She is such excellent company. Cheers to you, friend!
🙂