Part I - Upon A Winter's Dream There was the bird the milk boy saw dawn up the long road down, near the old mill beside the draw drift away on a thermal crown. There were reports of lifeless eyes adrift on Barrow Creek, where speckled bodies floating by spoke death or did not speak. What sought in early angler's dream sweet brews of morning ale, saw naught but log strewn tule steam where fallen trees grew pale. And, where some bo's had tied red cloth to flag a welcome meal, now hung black rags to warn them off beside an empty creel. Head out along E. Valley Rd. if you're doin' the commute, The tile plant's not far beyond by north-end's scenic route. But, since the first November rains, though the road's in good repair, for reasons they cannot explain they'll take the long way there. To some among the valley folk portentous signs abound, still none with ready rumor spoke of chilling solstice sounds. Nor by the light of Evenset, by ornament and candle, do they hear the roar of cataract beneath the winter's mantle.

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TO EMMA GOOD - THE MOVIE
The Ballad of Emma Good	©1999 Red Slider, all rights reserved.