Wednesday, May 26, 2004


Early this morning as I had my tea I was staring out the window at the Lake, where the holes in the overcast sky shone shape-shifting splotches of sunshine, swelling, shrinking, blending as they slid across the cloud-silvered water; then, as the mind will do in the morning, it stood to one side and had me see the light as shining from beneath the Lake, now a vast slab of thin gray agate lit from below by torches in the hands of vast beings moving slowly beneath, toward the same place the clouds were going. I guess that's how myths, even now, take form.


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