Wednesday, August 25, 2010


This malign place, where dread both primal and practical continuously nips at your heels, and even shadows run from themselves, cannot be my home indefinitely. There is a wariness that bleaches the soul with constant exposure to such depravity. Those who have never left, or always were, appear like aged bone, frail and muted. 
When Mickey came last eve with the latest report she concluded, "I'm glad I am alright." I paused whilst processing this, especially the last, before catching the social cue and answering. Now, alone, I write that it seems we will all be directly affected, eventually. If we must all suffer, isn't better to do so one's self than to find loved ones in pain?
Though this be dreary, others have similarly been afflicted. The Grangers, newleyweds of not quite two months, have already lost that look in their eyes. Between Matilda and I, we had a schoolchild's disposition toward one another certainly for two years, while perfect strangers have suggested the newness of our union well after. Also, this is the only wedding this year, and July draws to a close without any others planned.

(c) Michael Mosher 2010


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