The Rains Come Again
No minute passes without us assigning a thing a name or a reason. But very often, or maybe always, reasons don’t exist and names don’t apply.
It was on the fifth day in the fourth month of the sixth year
that the rains came and washed away the house, the Abyssinian cat,
and the small blue Fiat that Edie had gotten as a gift from Zaide Ben.
Now barren, the hills that saw out over the Great Lake were as they were before, which is to say: people-less and quiet; both grateful and lonesome, (which is…
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