one more delay

The clouds moving across the sky, the few leaves shuddering on the branches fingered out above us, the distant call of the freight train all made me think of Bard, of the Hudson, of Donna and of Dennis's songs about women and cities: "these are my mountains, these are my hills, the train runs through them, fills me with chills...the quiet titans, the monsters sleep, the locomotive, the river deep." The man skulking about the cemetary all in black cut short the excursion, but V and I held close and traipsed through the city streets nonchalantly nonetheless. When a big black dog tethered to an invisible leash leapt barking out of the darkness she became larger than life, told it to back off in a firm deep voice. We are brave girls, we. Forlorn sometimes, dreamy often, longing girls but brave.

I would ask pardon for the sentimentality, but I'm trained not to. No disclaimers. Take it for what it is tonight; tomorrow will be another story.