Serial Library passage Sept 4

4 Sep

When the last student emerged from the classroom and set out to cross the great divide, Filman looked on helplessly. Mrs. Dovegal held the frying pan above the sink and looked out the kitchen window. What was Filman doing now? she wondered. The fry pan hung just above the sands of the world. Suds dusted the top of the dishwater below Mrs. Dovegal’s hands. Mrs. Dovegal could not see Filman’s face, just his hair being tugged and tossed by the wind. It’s pretty windy, Mrs. Dovegal mumbled into the slice of air that sat before her like a wall. Maybe Filman is watching the wind. But you can’t see wind. He’s watching what runs overtop of the wind: the wishes, the thistles, the small sticks that tumble from trees and scatter into the distance with no concern for order. Mrs. Dovegal looked down at the dishwater and tried to see what was in there in the sink below the surface.


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