Story Untold
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
We were walking and the skies kept changing and the earth fell down and rose up and we turned a corner and here this was. The door to an old mill house (we presumed), slashed through, as if axed, as if it contained (and offered) a story of threat and rescue.
The mill house windows were steel barred and glassless. Its floor was sunk into the cool, dark mud. Its roof rafters were unsteady in places, disgusted elsewhere, as if they had given up on their questionable purpose.
What might we make of this? What was the threat? How went the rescue?
