1. Birth
You are born
The wind and snow cut open the window for you
A repeating row
Step out of the kind ewe
Walking out of the moon
Walking out of the beautiful eyes of flowing water
Looking from a distance
In the morning, there are a few faintly discernible figures
< p> Staring at you more and more directlyMy lover’s hair has not yet been pulled up
Your tiny stream of water has not yet been pulled up
There is no net and wind to spread out at the same time< /p>
There are no schools of pure white fish on the water
It reminds me of reproduction
It reminds me of giving birth in the bloody morning wind
Like gold Days
I cook, take baths, and plow through the forest with waves
You put your smile after the autumnal equinox
Before you wake up from the waterfall
p>
I took it out
Take it out
The sisters held the earthen basins filled with water on their heads
Those hearts
Those wet hearts Various lilies
Those mandarin ducks and water plants that have given rise to romance and joyful love
Even the bronze tripod outside the city engraved with oaths
are all there Retention
You still have to take advantage of the night to leave here
On the narrow road
I met history and you
I am the sun , you are the day
I am the stars, you are the night
Selected from Haizi's long poem "The River"
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The Birth of the Six Mysterious Stories of Haizi
The Birth
This man with a scar on his face, He looked so worried in the shouting crowd. He looked helpless, with two green circles around his eyes on his purple face. His wife is due to give birth during this hot month.
People shouted all the way, holding iron-tipped poles used to carry wheat during the wheat harvest season, and ran towards the river, which was not deep in the first place. The river has completely dried up, revealing gauze, huge rips and an unsightly bed. There has been a severe drought this year and there is an unusual lack of water. There have been several cases of fighting over water. Old people say that the stars at night and the birds in the trees represent bad omens. In fact, a vicious fight has long been brewing between the two feuding villages. On the other side of the river, where the fields of the two villages meet, there is a small deep pond that holds water. In the past three years, several people have drowned in that deep pool. The new tombs are buried between the deep pool and the temple, forming a "pin" shape.
When people from the two villages gathered together, the men and women screamed together. Looking from a distance, it looks like a group of people are dancing in the fields. An iron-tipped pole was stuck on the field ridge: people knew it was a deadly weapon. People won't use it unless they are in an emergency. It was as if they were standing around, just a group of elves watching the battle, just the masters and silent support of this fierce battle. Several birds fluttered by the pool and flew up. I couldn't hear their whining as they receded, the sound from the ground was too loud. This man with a scar on his face knocked down several men one after another, and one of them smelled of alcohol. Mud covered people's faces. People's facial features were pulled apart nervously. The movements are jerky, staccato, fleeting, and full of distant hints. Several men were beaten and bleeding. Several women lay on the ground and groaned, while others withdrew from the fierce battle. The remaining strong laborers were fighting and fighting each other in their underpants. There was also a young man who was watching and helping the battle. He lost his footing and fell into the pool. Fortunately, the water was shallow and he was fished out soon after, covered in mud.
At this time, Scarface was surrounded by several men. He twisted his neck in confusion. Someone touched it, and an iron-tipped pole tilted naturally and fell towards them. The men jumped away instinctively. As he slumped down, the iron tip stabbed into his neck slowly. Several women closed their eyes.
At that moment, he painfully realized that his wife had given birth. He saw so vividly the twisted braids of his wife's hair and the little bloody ball of flesh that was born into this world. These are the bones and blood he left behind, his treasure with eyes. He grinned and took his last breath, wanting to laugh but not laughing.
...When people carried the body to his yard, the cry of a baby was indeed heard in the house. For some reason, the muddy old cow in the cattle pen also had tears sliding down his eyes.
1985.5.22
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Six Mysterious Stories
p>The Turtle King’s First Love in a Wooden Boat
The Birth of the Rooster in the South
The Turtle King
Once upon a time, deep in the plains to the east, there lived a very old man Very old mason. The stonemason came to this plain from a deep valley when he was young. Here he comes. The war had just ended the year he arrived. At that time, he was very talented and bold, carving various animals for some famous palaces and cemeteries on the plains. His fame spread throughout the Great Plains. Many people wanted to marry their daughters to him, but he didn't marry anyone. He only distributed the money to everyone and lived a lonely life of poverty. But no one knew that he was secretly pondering a long-standing idea. This thought involves heaven, earth, people, gods and animals. This thought begins with animals and ends with animals. To do this, he looked for stones everywhere. There were not many stones on the plain, but there were some pebbles on the river beach, which was not what he needed. Therefore, he kept the matter in his heart and never mentioned it to anyone. His temper became increasingly erratic. Whether they are flying, walking, or floating, his animal works all have the posture and expression of struggling to crawl on the ground, with an atmosphere of knowing destiny but struggling hard. His animals are becoming more and more contradictory in their lines, crowded in their bones, and carry an overwhelming fishy smell that is about to burst out of their bodies. These strange edges and corners seem to lead these stone animals away from the world. The stonemason himself grew thinner and thinner, leaving only a handful of bones. That entire summer, he covered his face with a cattail leaf fan and stood alone and lifelessly guarding the pile of stone animals that no one cared about. He remained motionless, as if they had frozen in the sunlight. It seemed that he too was squeezed among these stone animals. In the following season, he sat under the two maple trees in front of his door, staring intently at the bird's nests among the leaves and the birds that were hurriedly coming and going, feeding their young. His hands seemed to touch the creatures flying high in the sky. But that doesn't seem to be enough. So in the later frozen time, he guarded the river and stood for a long time in the bleak north wind. His eyes were sunken. His brow is suggestive as a cliff, and faces the abyss with fullness and contentment. He felt that the river was like a long, slender, bright and cold snake with the smell of sunshine and scales swimming across his palm. His hands seemed to pass through these scales and touch the caves that people could not see under the river. Mud layers and fish breed vigorously. But that doesn't seem to be enough either. So in the following spring, he completely gave up his craft as a stonemason and went to plow the fields with a farmer. He followed clumsily but sincerely behind the yellow plow ox, holding on to the plow. His whip held high, his eyes narrowed as he thought of a painful and short time in his life. Later he scattered those seeds. He seemed to hear the snickering sounds of the seed sisters. His clothes fluttered in tatters in the wind. Then he fell asleep in the field with his palms stained with cow dung and mud pressed against his forehead. Early the next morning, he jumped up as neatly as a young man. He said goodbye to the farmer, his words becoming clear and solid. He walked on the earth like the wind. Maybe he was feeling five fierce horses galloping and leaping at the same time in his chest. He ran home in one breath, closed the courtyard door, the main and second doors, and closed the windows. Since then, the masons have disappeared from this plain. The house in which the masons lived was like a dead house. Some of his former apprentices threw soybeans, wheat and salted pork in from outside the courtyard wall. There was a well in the house, enough to feed him. In this way, five years have passed.
Five years later, there was a flood here. On the night when the flash floods came to this plain, people heard the sounds of countless turtles paddling and crawling, seemingly trying to stop the flood.
They passed each other in a language that no one could understand, and ran to their king with shouts. The floods receded the next morning. These villages are safe and sound. When people opened the old stonemason's courtyard door and the main door with concern and entered his bedroom, they found that he had died of exhaustion on the bed, and there was a stone shape of half man and half turtle about the same size as the bed on the ground. At first glance, it looks like a king turtle, but when you look closer, it looks very much like a human body, a naked man. The feet and hands covered with muddy water and scars were spread out, as if they had just finished fighting the flood and were lying there calmly. It has completely evolved into a human, or is taller than a human, but it has no belly button. This was not an oversight on the part of the old mason. It was not originally born from the mother's body. It has crawled out of the wilderness and floods, and it has to go back.
There was a severe drought the next year. People set up the incense table. More than a dozen men carried the Stone Turtle King to the middle of the dry river, dug a big pit, and buried it. A clear spring gushes out. Rain clouds conjunct. There have been no droughts or floods in this plain since. People live their lives peacefully. The Stonemason and the Turtle King were forgotten. Maybe I'm the biggest fool in the world to bring up this ancient thing that everyone has forgotten.
1985.5.23 late at night
Wooden boat
People said that he was taken off a wooden boat. It was sunset, the sun dyed the river blood red, and a wooden boat sailed upstream. The people in this village opened their eyes in surprise, because there had been no ships sailing on this river for a long, long time. There is a dangerous gorge both upstream and downstream of the village, known as the "Ghost Gate Boss" and "Ghost Gate Lao Er". After the legendary heroic age, no one ever sailed on this river again. This river has killed countless lives. The people in the village have had enough of hearing the sound of women crying along the river. But what happened to this boat today? Everyone was very puzzled. This wooden boat docked next to the village with a strange fragrance. It has such a strange shape, with many windows opening into it. A few good-hearted people jumped on board and brought down a two or three-year-old boy. The boat soon drifted away along the river and disappeared at the intersection of water and sky. A few busybodies only said that there was no one on board. They were silent about everything else on board. Maybe they saw something. A beam of light? A shadow? Or a fire in front of an altar? They just scattered in silence. What's even more surprising is that these good guys all went away soon and never returned to their hometown. So the wooden boat has always been a mystery. (Perhaps, the countless eyes cast on him have shown that the people in the village place their hopes of solving the mystery of the wooden boat on this boy who has a partnership or blood relationship with the wooden boat.) His adoptive mother is very kind and loving. The family is very poor. He has loved painting since he was a child. Without pen and ink, he used small clods of soil to draw on the ground and walls. Very few people can understand his paintings. Only a cripple carpenter, a female astrologer and an unusually beautiful mute girl who never grew up could understand him. At that time he was in the writing stage. His paintings are like a secret text that can continuously express different human stories and objects. Fish appeared repeatedly in his paintings at this time, and he even dreamed that he was also a very ancient fish, with his head resting on the ground. People in the village felt an inexplicable fear about this incident, and believed that these paintings with simple lines and painful shapes were related to their poverty and the past they tried to forget. So they persuaded him through his loving adoptive mother not to paint anymore. If he wanted to paint, he would just paint those fat dolls where everyone felt comfortable and safe, and things like orioles flying, grass growing, bridges flowing, and so on. But his hands could never stop this activity. The paintings flowed out of his fingers like water and spread all over the place, wetting others and himself. Later, people trampled on his paintings anytime and anywhere. I don't know since when, he stopped using the clods at all. He sat by the river that brought him here, stuck his fingers into the water, and drew. From a distance, it looked like an ancient ritual, so no one cared about him anymore. Those paintings only existed in his heart, forever covered by layers of waves. His fingers awakened them, but they disappeared again in the water. Many years passed like this, and he grew into a strong man. His adoptive father died and his family became even poorer. He had no choice but to give up his passion for water and painting and go do other things to make a living.
He worked as a cooper, painter, blacksmith, and tinsmith; he learned carpentry and tailoring; he performed acrobatics and tamed animals; he joined a caravan, worked as a bandit, experienced many wars, large and small, and even lost his life. He lost a leg; he got married and gave birth to children; he got drunk and passed out several times in the beautiful mountains and rivers; he climbed countless mountains, chopped down countless big trees, and crossed countless scaly fish spines. He ate countless turtles, birds, fish, fragrant flowers and grass roots; he planned to marry his sister to the distant plains, and married a virtuous and gentle daughter-in-law for his brother... until one day One day, he buried his adoptive mother who died of illness, and then breathed a long sigh of relief. He is also old. From about this time, the smell of the wooden boat gradually began to rise in the night. The smell was very special, unlike the fishy smell of water emitted by other ships. That wooden boat gave off a special aroma, like the aroma of a strange beast in the prehistoric forest that covered the sky in the west. People in the village also smelled this aroma at night, and some people thought it was more similar to the aroma of moonlight gently swaying on the water. He sat on the edge of the bed and saw his life clearly, and at the same time he also saw the wooden boat clearly. It was dark red, but it didn't look like it was painted with ordinary human paint. From a distance, it looks like it is made of random logs. But in fact that is not the case at all. Its structure is exquisite and tight, with rows of windows facing the sun and moonlight. Perhaps it is to fully absorb the wheat grains, rape flowers and thousands of flowers in late spring during the voyage. The scent of hundreds of insects. On the edge of the wooden boat, the pattern of thirteen stars and a cat is clearly and permanently engraved. The stars and the cat's eyes were full of tears and bright. So, he rummaged through the cabinets at home and found the broken silver and jade that he had accumulated for many years. He went to the town to exchange money to buy pen and ink and start painting. Therefore, the courtyard of this deep house is always filled with the smell of water and the smell of primitive forest. Occasionally, people in the village heard a sound, the jingle of felling wood. The forest was far away, and one was consciously aware that it was the sound coming from his drawing paper. He wants to draw a wooden boat. He may have been born on that wooden boat. He drifted down the river on that wooden boat for a long time. The sound of the logs being chopped down to build this wooden boat echoed on his drawing paper. Then there was the sound of tinkling iron for many days, which was the sound of shipbuilding. He held the pen feverishly and stood in front of the drawing paper. There was still nothing on the drawing paper. He threw his pen into bed and slept soundly for three days and three nights. It wasn't until people in the neighboring village could hear the "bang bang" sound of a boat being launched in mid-air that he jumped out of bed and threw the pen to the drawing paper. The first form is revealed. It is a shape covered by clouds and mist, blocked by cliffs, exposed to the sun, and invaded by muddy water. It was a lonely and sad figure. The boat, solid and hollow, was launched into the water, bid farewell to the shore, and sailed quickly towards the "Ghost Gate". Like the clay pots placed on the heads of loved ones after death, it embodies a desire to store, a desire to store the deep roots and body veins of previous generations for future generations after thousands of years. A blood-red sun on the mast of the ship shines on its simple, heavy and self-reproaching expression, and then the sky is covered with the starlight and tenderness of the night. As the wooden boat sailed quietly in the night, the children were born. These bloody, healthy children are the heaviest forms on earth. Their birth is both helpless and affectionate, both regular and meaningful. He waved the brush with difficulty to describe all this. It was as if the wooden boat was carrying these heavy children in the eternal river. Therefore, the ship is very much like a piece of land, a land that has been born long ago and where the skulls of ancestors are buried. What drives it forward? It is the turbid river and the tragic wind blowing from the sky. Therefore, on his drawing paper, the ships are actually moving, moving intermittently. Facing the painting and the wisps of smoke outside the window, he shed big tears.
Finally, the day came and he closed his eyes. He left a will: to burn the painting in front of his bed facing the river. Just as the ashes were rising into the boundless sky, the wooden boat appeared again. It went upstream and landed at the edge of the village. The people carried the body of the son of the ship onto the ship and found that there was no one on the ship. The cabin holds five different colors of soil. The wooden boat carried him upstream, heading towards their common birthplace and destination. Where there is a beginning, there is an end. Maybe a tree will quietly grow where it disappeared.
1985.5.25
First Love
Once upon a time, there was a man with a snake, sitting on a wooden box, drifting on this big river, looking for The enemy who killed his father.
He was drifting on this wide river. He ate the dry food he brought or went to the shore to beg. He also planted a corn on the wooden box. All the fishermen along the way took off their hats or waved to him. He has visited many branches of the river, learned many dialects, and understood love, temples, life, and forgetfulness, but he has never found the enemy who killed his father.
This snake was rescued by my father when he was still alive. My father kept it in the bamboo forest on the right side of the manor. The more the snake is raised, the bigger it gets. It works hard day and night, preparing to repay its kindness one day. On the day my father was killed, the snake sprang out of the bamboo forest for the first time, spitting poisonous seeds, writhing in pain next to the temple outside the village, and swam around the square several times. At that time, everyone just thought it was very strange and felt that this matter was not trivial. Then the bad news came. Therefore, he thought that this snake was the only one that still maintained a thin line of contact with his dead father. So he put it in a wooden box and went out to find the enemy who killed his father.
While the son kept dreaming about his father's bloody face, the snake huddled up at the bottom of the wooden box, twitching in pain because it had secretly fallen in love with him. Another snake thousands of miles away. But the snake was not a real physical snake, but just a snake made of bamboo. This secret love makes it feverishly pour life into the body of the lifeless snake bit by bit through thoughts, desires, dreams, pain and secret joy. Every night, when the bright moon hangs high in the south, the snake made of bamboo is filled with spiritual energy, and there seem to be countless halos and sparks flying above its head. Its body gradually became fleshy and thorny. It slowly took shape.
Finally, on this morning, the bamboo snake swam out of the toy room, spit out poisonous messages like sparks while its owner was sleeping, and bit the owner's abdomen. After a while, the poison broke out and the owner died. This owner is the father-killing enemy that the son is looking for. When the snake in the wooden box injected life and love into the bamboo snake, it also injected the same deep hatred into it.
The snake in the wooden box is going to leave without saying goodbye. At night, it swam out of the wooden box and had to cross countless floods, swamps, horses, flowers and insomnia to meet the bamboo snake. But its owner continued to sit on the wooden box, looking for his father-killing enemy.
The two snakes in love made him destined to wander and search on the river all his life. A flame burned in his heart.
1985.5.22
Birth
This man with a scar on his face looked so worried in the shouting crowd. He looked helpless, with two green circles around his eyes on his purple face. His wife is due to give birth during this hot month.
People shouted all the way, holding iron-tipped poles used to carry wheat during the wheat harvest season, and ran towards the river, which was not deep in the first place. The river has completely dried up, revealing gauze, huge rips, and an unsightly bed. There has been a severe drought this year and there is an unusual lack of water. There have been several cases of fighting over water. Old people say that the stars at night and the birds in the trees represent bad omens. In fact, a vicious fight has long been brewing between the two feuding villages. On the other side of the river, where the fields of the two villages meet, there is a small deep pond that holds water. In the past three years, several people have drowned in that deep pool. The new tombs are buried between the deep pool and the temple, in the shape of a "pin".
When people from the two villages gathered together, the men and women screamed together. Looking from a distance, it looks like a group of people are dancing in the fields. An iron-tipped pole was stuck on the field ridge: people knew it was a deadly weapon. People won't use it unless they are in an emergency. It was as if they were standing around, just a group of elves watching the battle, just the masters and silent support of this fierce battle. Several birds fluttered by the pool and flew up. I couldn't hear their whining as they receded, the sound from the ground was too loud. This man with a scar on his face knocked down several men one after another, and one of the men still smelled of alcohol. Mud covered people's faces. People's facial features were pulled apart nervously. The movements are jerky, staccato, fleeting, and full of distant hints. Several men were beaten and bleeding. Several women lay on the ground and groaned, while others withdrew from the fierce battle.
The remaining strong laborers were fighting and fighting each other in their underpants. There was also a young man who was watching and helping the battle. He lost his footing and fell into the pool. Fortunately, the water was shallow and he was fished out soon after, covered in mud.
At this time, Scarface was surrounded by several men. He twisted his neck in confusion. Someone touched it, and an iron-tipped pole tilted naturally and fell towards them. The men jumped away instinctively. As he slumped down, the iron tip stabbed into his neck slowly. Several women closed their eyes. At that moment, he painfully realized that his wife had given birth. He saw so vividly the twisted braids of his wife's hair and the little bloody ball of flesh that was born into this world. These are the bones and blood he left behind, his treasure with eyes. He grinned and took his last breath, wanting to laugh but not laughing.
...When people carried the body to the yard of his house, the cry of a baby was indeed heard in the house. For some reason, the muddy old cow in the cattle pen also had tears sliding down his eyes.
1985.5.22
Cock
People living here have a habit of sacrificing rooster heads and blood when building foundations for new houses. The old blackhead in this village wants to build a house this year.
Old Blackhead is almost sixty this year and has no children. The old couple lives in harmony. Not long ago, he went out into the mountains to sell wood. After going through many hardships, he saved some money by relying on the river and his own blood. He will build four houses this spring. That's it.
His family has a beautiful rooster with feathers like blood.
The old blackhead picked out the foundation, and behind it was an endless depression. There are only some mixed woods, which grow naturally. There are also some ancient mass graves of unknown age, which were the earliest contracts between people and this depression. Now this contract has long been forgotten by people. People only live with a few pieces of thin soil in front of their door, and are indifferent to the endless depression behind them. The Feng Shui master said that this depression has the appearance of a crouching dragon. If the old blackhead has deep roots in life, his family will have a son who will become a dragon. The old blackhead was dubious. Every evening, he would wander around in the depression. He and depression gradually became familiar from strangers, and eventually formed an inseparable relationship. Especially at dusk, they can understand each other very deeply. The setting sun in the west suddenly fell vertically among the trees, and was buried by the slightly rising dust and smoke. The old blackhead's heart was shaking gently like this depression as the night came. He felt that God had failed him. Such an honest and honest man could not have a son. When the old blackhead walked out of the depression, he spat. It gets dark quickly. My wife was waiting for him to go back to have dinner with the small lamp again. On the night before building the house, no one knew that the old blackhead kowtowed several times to his old friend, the depression.
On the morning when the house was built, the bricklayers touched the oil on their mouths and stood around with their masonry knives in hand. A square-minded guy walked to the center carrying that beautiful red rooster. He slashed the chicken's neck. The bright red blood gushed out and splashed rapidly onto the brown ground, like a bright and exotic flower that kept blooming on the dust. The sound of firecrackers sounded. The old blackhead handed a cigarette to the square-headed man. Just as he stretched out his hand to catch the cigarette, the big red rooster dragged its neck out of his hand and flew straight over the stunned crowd, bleeding, and rushed straight to the depression. After a while, it disappeared into the chaos. Behind the trees. Only then did the old blackhead come to his senses and join the others in crowding towards the depression. But the rooster seemed to have escaped, and not even the blood or feathers were visible. Everyone followed the old blackhead into this unfamiliar depression, secretly wondering, and continued walking deeper. Suddenly, the cry of a baby came from ahead. People enlarged their steps, accelerated their speed, searched forward, and exchanged surprised expressions from time to time. Some leaves on the branches had just struggled out of their dark and heavy bodies. They looked at the people who longed for miracles with surprise, and even touched them with their flexible bodies and touched the black hair on their heads. The hollow welcomes and accommodates people with confidence. Everyone finally found a baby boy wrapped in a red cloth gown. He lay between two ancient tombs, crying. Strangely enough, two drops of flushed blood and a piece of feather were found on the baby's forehead. The feathers are very similar to those of the red rooster. But maybe it was picked down by a bird chasing it. It's just that the blood stains are hard to explain. The rooster was not found at last.
Of course it was the old blackhead who took the baby boy home.
Those who remained spent the spring immersed in the mysterious power and bounty of the swale. People became taciturn. People's eyes become brighter than before.
Another rooster head was used, and the old blackhead's house was built. The next spring, Lao Heitou's wife actually got pregnant and gave birth to a daughter, but more of the milk was sucked by the baby boy. No miracle occurred. The days continued as usual. Sunset and sunrise, the four seasons cycle, but the depression becomes warm and tender, but the old blackhead will not be extinct.
1985.5.24
South
When I was 81 years old, I got a map of my hometown. Intermittent curves are painted on it, pointing to the sky and the earth, and seem to form a circle. One of the rivers contains rotten boards, corpses and large fish. I lived on the outskirts of Beijing, doing work alone, handiwork, and sewing scenery and props for others. I also had to put my collar up in the middle of the house to protect my body from the cold. It seemed like one winter, when the snowflakes were about to fall, a black wooden wheel cart pulled me south. The first place I arrived was a large forest. There, the driver placed me on a flowery stone among the trees and placed many wild flowers at my feet. They tore my clothes into flags and waved them in the wind. And they left. At first, I couldn't interpret this as a good omen. It wasn't until a star fell on my head that things finally became clear. Sparks flew from my head, burning my clothes and the zigzag map of my hometown to ashes. It seemed that even my bones were on fire. At this moment, I opened my eyes, my flesh was fresh and painful, and a horse was miraculously tied to the thick tree opposite. It was exactly what I lost in another forest when I was young and strong. This, I could see at a glance that something was serious. In order to be brave, I held it with my hands, making a drinking gesture. The horse was tied to a tree and snorted. I led him to the water and prepared to wash himself. Suddenly, I saw a man in his thirties reflected on the water. I was so angry that I threw a stone into the water on the spot. Just like that, the north drained cleanly from my palms. After riding all the way back to the small town in my hometown, I found that under the light rain in my hometown, I had grown into a twenty-year-old body, and was filled with love. I ran towards the familiar alley. It’s the same as it was decades ago: it’s raining outside and the lights are on inside. I climbed up the window as I had done decades ago, and when I entered the house I found that the letters I had left had not yet been opened. Suddenly, her giggles came from the next room. I was so shocked that I had no choice but to jump out of the window, jump on my horse, and run towards the hillside. I saw several houses of my house standing at the end of the village from a distance. I jumped off the horse, rolled into the dust, and fell on the moon in front of the door, my knees bleeding. When I woke up, it was wrapped in red cloth. Mother sat in front of the door spinning thread, as if making an ancient gesture. I walked towards her, my body getting smaller and smaller. When I was 3 years old, I looked up at the door. The horse was long gone.
1985.8