![]() ![]() ![]() The light rain spotted the empty, ashen plot nearby the house, watering the barren ground where a garden might have blossomed in the time of the Van Livenns. And as I stood among the shadows outside that door, I heard hundreds of raindrops running up the steps behind me, as the air went cold and the skies gained shadows of their own. Surely the house has played this trick on some of you, and all of you have seen it at one time or another: its roof of rippling shingles shaped like scales from some great fish, sea-green and sparkling in the autumn sun its two attic gables with paned windows that come to a point like the tip of a tear, but do not gleam like tears its sepulcher-shaped doorway at the top of rotted wooden stairs, where there is barely a place for one to stand. ![]() (Yes, my eyes, think about them, good people: dream about them.) But as I neared the house, its greyish-white planks, bowed and buckled and oddly spotted, turned the pallid lily to a pulpy toadstool. At first this is how it appeared to my eyes. “You have seen the house and how, approaching it from the road that leads out of town, it sprouts suddenly into view - a pale flower amid the dark summer trees, now a ghostly flower at autumn. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |