Thursday, August 20, 2009

There was always his personal world of rocks and molten cores.

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His eyes fixed on the pale sky beyond the ragged blackness of the cedar boughs. Some nights he did not wake up. Other nights he woke up and she did not come. But he saw her often enough and each time he saw her she had learned to fly a little better. MORE ABOUT HER At first she had wobbled so balanced sideways on the stick that he wondered why she did not ride astride. She would grip the broomstick with one hand and try to hold her hat on with the other and her feet in their long shoes looked so odd against the moonlit sky. Once she fell-and the broomstick came down quite slowly like an umbrella blown inside out with Miss Price clinging to the handle. Paul had watched her anxiously until she reached the ground. That time she landed safely. Partly he did not tell because he wanted to be proud of Miss Price. He did not want the others to see her until she was really good at it-until perhaps she could.
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