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Show 70, Jeffries, Islamorada With their bulbous heads and black bibs, all the chickadees came out to see. Dory and Rowena hurried into a little cloud of fog, a snap of cold on the old Interurban. The sun was down, and the early night of standard time had come on. "Row," he had said, "if I could just for once figure something intelligent to say to the fathers, your father. . .it's the adversary relationship. . ." They were driving along the old national boundary. "A flask?" Row looked at him, with a bit of disappointment, he thought. "Gee Dory, I thought you didn't hardly drink at all." He gulped at it and toasted the stone Indian in the yard of Centran Bank on the Portage Trail. "Firewater! "I guess I'm about ready to meet the Munchkins," he said. "I hope you like my parents, Dorian." I see a Midsummer Night's Dream character, he'd thought, as they'd crouched above two mallards working their way up rough water. Add to Peaseblossom and Mustardseed this Row, and tell me if my hand is in her ash-white hair or in the fine fluff of a milkweed pod. To watch Row in a meadow was to be transported |
