Crow,April 10, 2008 at 7:37 pm | Posted in writing | 8 Comments
Tags: crone, crow, writing
The old crone, he had refrained from naming her though not out of decency nor fear of her response. He realised that he meant it as a compliment but that it had been badly translated. He looked to her again and saw her finger crooked, then point and indicate a card. It was all some misunderstanding that had lead him here. He had thought she held some secret possibility as indicated by the complex network of symbols, stars and moons and totem creatures thinly painted on the front door but the language problem simply wasn’t to be overcome, the card looked to him like an invitation to indulge in some lurid fantasy when all he had wanted was direction home. It is unfortunate, he thought, selecting the word almost by accident. She smiled at him and held out her palm. A kind of primitive gesture to indicate she is unarmed, he remembered but he could not recall if the appropriate response was to take the hand or simply to pass some shiny metal object over it.
It is as if they are aliens to themselves, he thought, passing out again into the sunlight,