Everyone’s gone home except a few English language school students and me. Furiously checking email, the students point and click and type and frown and glance at the clock and glance at me and the seconds keep dwindling between Access and No Access Until 5 January.
But the daylight waxes already again, and it’s the twenty-third, and so close to the new year I can see it sparkling through the slumbering trees.
Twenty-three, that number always with me: a spectre, a will o’ the wisp, a touchstone, a black feather.
Between what I see in my head and what I have in my hand is a small space. We can jump, you and I, if we only give each other a sly smile right before
On the other side now;
see you there.
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