“ This isn’t fiction, the man says. This is the Post Office. ”
I wished that my own bones were unbound, I wished they were mingling, picked clean by fish, with the bones of another body, a body my bones and heart and soul had loved with unfathomable certainty for decades, and both of us down deep now, lost to everything but the fact of bare bones on a dark seabed.
~ Ali Smith
It is important to know the stories and histories of things, even if all we know is that we don't know.
Outside the leaves on the trees constricted slightly they were the deep done green of the beginning of autumn. It was a Sunday in September. There would only be four. The clouds were high and the swallows would be here for another month or so before they left for the south before they returned again next summer.
Got a light? See? Careful. I'm everything you ever dreamed.
