(I've had rather a lot of things happen the last week or two! Apologies for how delayed this has been.)
almost there
As a little girl, Dana had imaginary friends: the echo of a voice in the cellar; the ghost of one of her dolls who came to life at night; a friendly creature with bat wings, who took dust baths in the yard. There was the faceless old woman, but she was real: no one could see her, unless only for a second and they knew exactly where to look, but Dana had been born in Night Vale and knew the difference in her bones.
On the way through the dog park through the house in Desert Creek through the desert, through the great shimmering heat-haze of desert, with seisemic waves passing through the ground and the red light far ahead on the hill, blinking on, then off, then on, then off, then on, Dana has them all with her: the echoes, the dolls, the creatures with wings, her faceless old woman, Cecil and Carlos and Mayor Winchell and Barack Obama and William Shakespeare and every life that has at any moment touched hers, all their selves and echoes, sharing the space of her body; as Dana is walking the sand at the dawn of things, making the space for everything else to be born.
almost there
As a little girl, Dana had imaginary friends: the echo of a voice in the cellar; the ghost of one of her dolls who came to life at night; a friendly creature with bat wings, who took dust baths in the yard. There was the faceless old woman, but she was real: no one could see her, unless only for a second and they knew exactly where to look, but Dana had been born in Night Vale and knew the difference in her bones.
On the way through the dog park through the house in Desert Creek through the desert, through the great shimmering heat-haze of desert, with seisemic waves passing through the ground and the red light far ahead on the hill, blinking on, then off, then on, then off, then on, Dana has them all with her: the echoes, the dolls, the creatures with wings, her faceless old woman, Cecil and Carlos and Mayor Winchell and Barack Obama and William Shakespeare and every life that has at any moment touched hers, all their selves and echoes, sharing the space of her body; as Dana is walking the sand at the dawn of things, making the space for everything else to be born.
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