Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Puddles, Things, A Woman (Of Course), And A Captain

Plain puddles of light, dull really, or fantastic, depending, plain puddles in any case, shiver on the surface of the water. Someone, a boy I think, throws a pebble at one of them. We do not watch to see where it lands.

For hundreds of years people have preferred things to themselves. They have preferred gold fish or wagons or steak tartar or really any sort of thing to other people. That is probably not going to change.

Of course in a story such as this there is always a woman. Here she is: tall, brown hair, feet – she glances at us for an instant and then is gone.

Inside of a small ship a captain sits whimpering. His nose runs and his handkerchief is stained. On one of his lips a freckle can be detected. This does not, we hope, have too severe an effect on his command of the ship.

But we return, in the end, to the puddles of light, plain or dull or fantastic, dancing and shivering on the surface of the water. A pebble was thrown at one of these puddles, we think, but it is uncertain where it landed.

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