They used to come at night, death and her friends. I would hide beneath the sheets imagining hooded figures crossing the streets and fields, in their perpetual march, their candles lightening the path of dark for us, mortals to fear.
But I was the child
who needed to see. I would sneak through the window seeing a gaze of light in
the trail of night... and then nothing. Believing they had left without me I searched every corner looking for any trace of Death and her friends.
Perhaps I did find something and I didn't know it. Perhaps that night I stole something from Death, and that is why she has been hunting ever since.
Perhaps I did find something and I didn't know it. Perhaps that night I stole something from Death, and that is why she has been hunting ever since.
Your words and photos are sheer perfection, Irene! I send you all my love!
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