The Mothering Coven
“She wrote them in the alphabet of daggers, a magic alphabet. It took a long time. Will the newspaper office have the right typeface? Bryce carves 26 potato stamps. Off she goes down the sidewalk, pulling her wagon of potatoes. She is wearing a green tunic and her favorite green felt shoes. She whistles. She waves to everyone she passes. She forgets and waves with the hairy palm. Oh well.
[:] Ms. Kidney is lying on her parka playing a purple finger harp. Strong fingers—where would the organ grin...der’s monkey be without them?
“A strange horoscope,” says Mr. Henderson. His hands are folded in his lap. He gives his wheel a small shove. The dry clay particles spin into the air and flurry down.
Mr. Henderson takes a lump of clay from his bucket. He supposes he should try again. He will need a little port.
“There must be a bit of port,” says Mr. Henderson.
“A bit?” says Ms. Kidney.
“A drop?” says Mr. Henderson.
“A nip,” says Ms. Kidney. “There is a nip of port, Sebastian.”MoreLess
[:] Ms. Kidney is lying on her parka playing a purple finger harp. Strong fingers—where would the organ grin...der’s monkey be without them?
“A strange horoscope,” says Mr. Henderson. His hands are folded in his lap. He gives his wheel a small shove. The dry clay particles spin into the air and flurry down.
Mr. Henderson takes a lump of clay from his bucket. He supposes he should try again. He will need a little port.
“There must be a bit of port,” says Mr. Henderson.
“A bit?” says Ms. Kidney.
“A drop?” says Mr. Henderson.
“A nip,” says Ms. Kidney. “There is a nip of port, Sebastian.”MoreLess
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