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fyn gula
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and so helin read and she learned things she did not know before. another's thoughts, ideas, and facts which now belonged to her and she in turn would give them out like candy to some, like jewelry to others.
there was a window in the writing cottage that let light in from the outside. sunlight at times slipped through heavy clouds and if we were to see helin sitting there in the yellow chair with the black polka dots, her blonde dreads falling across her eyes and resting on flushed cheeks, we would think her beautiful. and if she were to look out, past the sassafras trees and loblolly pines, she would see a murder of crows in the yard or perhaps copello falling on his ass and breaking the terracotta pots with the gardenia. but she didn't look out. she was lost in her reading.
but when moments later a knock on the wooden door interrupted her, she figured it was the old man returning. she was wrong.
"come in!" helin called out. her voice was still hoarse and growing weaker. the door slowly opened. it was not the old man. it was a stork.
for you and me, storks represent the idea of new birth, this bird flying across the blue sky holding a sleeping baby by the diaper in its beak. or most of us have seen the wooden likeness pounded into the ground, next to the white picket fence announcing a couple's new arrival. (it's a girl!")
when helin saw it standing in the doorway, this image did not cross her mind because there were several things about the stork that were not typical.
1. he was tall. about six feet from feet to head.
2. he had a saddle-like contraption on his back that made him appear as if he might be some kind of passenger aeroplane.
3. he had a colourful hemp-beaded anklet, a sure sign he was from rynomari. (maybe sent from maylay?)
4. he spoke french
needless to say, helin put the booklet down.
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010929
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