Myth of the Star & Truth of the Constellation
The great lid of winter has been sliding over the island. Over a few days, the last visitors of summer danced and tumbled, but then they slipped away and left us with the gray, the cold, and the damp. The leaves have fallen and blown into drifts and piles, then to be stomped, soaked, and frozen. Behind the bare limbs, the neighbor’s windows glow. They have a new TV set and, starting at 4:30 in the afternoon, Fox News dances through the glass and across the stone patio. The R months have emerged as the blossom and bloom of summer has fallen away; the brown and gray foundations reveal themselves again.
