... ..squinting at owls ....February 6, 2004   There is a sizable mummy standing on the branch of a dying water oak behind my house.  I bounce slightly, sitting in a wrought-iron chair designed for bouncing slightly.  I pretend to smoke the twig clenched between my teeth.  The mummy in the dying tree turns his head and stares down at me.   We speak the language of the dead. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..1st quarter index..|..next

©  2004 by the beastmaster