I cannot walk under the wires. The sparrows scatter like handfuls of gravel. Really, wires are voices in thin strips. They are words wound in cables. Bars of connection.
In the Heart of the Heart of the Country & Other Stories (ed. 1968)
I cannot walk under the wires. The sparrows scatter like handfuls of gravel. Really, wires are voices in thin strips. They are words wound in cables. Bars of connection.
In the Heart of the Heart of the Country & Other Stories (ed. 1968)
