This is a time of day when the columns cast long shadows. Shadows that wriggle and shiver and dance in the golden light. We were there remembering a moment from long ago in the untamed far away. Or was I alone with my imagination? Did I simply read about it? No, I distinctly remember the nudge of your shiny, blue-black beak. Why were we there? Had we stepped outside to breath in the fresh air or were we locked in our rooms (in our heads) like Max who made mischief? We thought of the trees as architecture. Or do I have that backwards? Anything could have emerged from that wall of opaque sunshine; a gallant knight or fine lady (rings on her fingers and bells on her toes) riding horseback. Maybe a hungry wolf dressed as grandmother (or a hungry boy, dressed as a wolf). Or perhaps this will all remain quiet and after I close my eyes, disintegrate into a cool blue wash.
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