Marchen

Here in my house it is quiet–a fairy tale–the prince and princess are asleep. I don’t know why I’m the privileged one who is awake. I know the television was invented to rob this moment from human beings. 

 

I walk about on very ordinary days and see strangers and feel tenderness and hope for them. This is the absolute truth. I feel these things though the world is a ruined carnival. 

 

Wind in the alders. A mourning dove. Rain on the roof. The grownups asleep. And the little dog keeps track of things at the window.