Wednesday, June 24, 2009

reconsiderations and recollections

Regardless, she stayed. She scythed a path through the overgrown shrubs and grasses, found the old hand water pump that had never actually been removed, set up camp in what had once been the living room, now lacking a roof, a campfire in the fireplace. Somehow she created a vegetable garden or knew how to forage for edibles; somehow she found a stray chicken or two to incorporate into the yard.
People suspected her arrival, not through actual visits but through supposition and local intuition; the house had already developed a reputation, and she could only be at least slightly mad, at best. So they left her alone, except during full moons or at Halloween, took alternate paths rather than the shortcut to the river; and there she lived.



reading more the the amazing Atwood
and On the Way to the River / Laurence

weather the final ending of a too-melodramatic June