Sand [y]

It’s sandy here.  I don’t know what happened.   Wind outlandish wind a storm of wind that rattled the bed frame and deflowered windows, shattering glass.  In the morning, a pile of sand, like an hourglass emptied on the floor of my obelisk.  What duration was being measured?  What, now that the sand has sifted, will soon cease?  Is it bad luck to smash a glass of hours?  What will I do with this temporal pile of sand?

Crow would like me to build an impermanent castle.  Black swan says sand is good for wallowing in, shuffling grit into the itchy place between the wings.  The starlings swoon in discrete calculations- one grain per pursed beak, which will be more numerous?

Hawk sees in the pile of sand a microcosmic manifestation of our parched souls.

I need a broom.  It was Halloween and I wanted to be a witch because that’s what you call women who fly.  I want to fly but I don’t have a broom, so I dressed up as Owl instead.  Owl took one look at my costume and said “isn’t that a bit like gilding the lily?”  I’m not sure if “lily” refers to me or Owl.

Owl was disgruntled with all costume choices.  “Why can’t I be a fish or a movie star or a fantastic aviation device?” moaned Owl, clearly under the influence of my first movie (have you watched it?)  No, Owl is, this year, a very perturbed cupid.  Here we are, with my inexplicable heap of sand:

Owl has no access to electrical equipment at this time, so we had to take a photograph of ourselves in our costumes.  I will post a scanned version, soon.

-The Odalisque

**Here’s the scanned version of our Halloween costumes.  It enlarges :

Halloween, 2012