had a mystery. She was like the valleys under mist and sometimes used it
as they did for allure. But more, I think, for presence.
had valleys in her past. In fact, they seemed to demark it.
spoke of them.
seeing her 1 might think Rose the fragile member. But in reality it was
she who looked so full and fresh, she was indeed
ample in her essence and as open, wholesome as her father's dairy house
which frequently seemed to exist in order that her thick blond hair might
fall within a worthy setting and her rosy arms with sleeves rolled up
and her boots which stirred the straw in sketched
they said, was a rich man's daughter.
they said far more about her mother.
Violet, it was evident, held intellect abundantly and so other riches never
mattered when companioning with her.
said Elaine's mother knew John Singer Sargent but how could that be? And
how could it not? Whatever needs to be will. I learned that near the meadow,
or possibly before.
they said that, and swore it was true, and moved their lips and squinted
as though that told me more.
did, but not what they had intended.
windows were small and always dusty.
mother might have known Sargent. Why not? He knew a great many people,
especially those not limited by time or space. Or, it might have been like
a Van Gogh
where 1 cannot tell the potatoes from the shoes.