A man not so very long gone might have called them angelheaded, every one of them radiant thieves and pickpockets of the dead or almost-alive. They have been closed up in little rooms, singing songs without guitars, but they come down, and sit together laughing for a little while, and sing of stars and nights and long-gone men with misplaced bodies, and the evening begins to blossom into itself all around them.
Do they know that this time, too, will be over soon?
What is this?! I’m so in love with the language! You can’t just post a teaser this good and walk away. ;o)
I want to know what’s coming next.
It was just my reflection on the gang of us Clarion West attendees sitting in the main room of the Sorority house last Monday night. One girl (I’m keeping this anonymous) had busted out a guitar and they ended up singing that song about Vincent van Gogh, “Starry Starry Night”. What came next was we all went off to read our crits and edit our stories and get a little sleep. Or maybe we drank. :)
I missed seeing this the first time through, but I love this.