At the center of all that’s all the rage

tumblr_mniv2lRMZi1qe0lqqo1_500I am indeed this little girl.

I cut her braids off in my mind with imaginary scissors and see a boy’s face instead with a downturned mouth, perhaps Scandinavian.

Not impressed to be dressed and posed just so.

And then I play an amputated waltz as the sun, here on the coast of Maine, falls slowly down throwing a cold shadow on the far wall and across the small square painting of Manhattan that was bought many years before this house, but was all along meant to be in this spot on afternoons like these of which there are few but are otherwise without equal.