Faith in the afternoon

The Cinetrix, who’s trying to decide when it’s okay to start drinking (and obviously has not yet familiarized herself with the Antigeist’s rules concerning same), sees my Grace Paley Election Day post and raises it with this Paley excerpt:

As for you, fellow independent thinker of the Western Bloc, if you have anything sensible to say, don’t wait. Shout it out loud right this minute. In twenty years, give or take a spring, your grandchildren will be lying in sandboxes all over the world, their ears to the ground, listening for signals from long ago. In fact, kneeling now on the great plains in a snootful of gray dust, what do you hear? Pigs oinking, potatoes peeling, Indians running, winter coming?

Faith’s head is under the pillow nearly any weekday midnight, asweat with dreams, and she is seasick with ocean sounds, the squealing wind stuck in its rearing tail by high tide.


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