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The Tremulous Hat

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The man upstairs came looking for our metal shovel. His parked car was stuck in ice like everyone else’s. He saw I was eating some delicious shredded cabbage with Asian dressing. The shovel was in the basement. "When you’re finished eating," he said, then disappeared. I went out front when I found the shovel. Across the road was this woman I’ve noticed many times because of her amazing hat covered in a zillion tiny feathers that swoop upward and scintillate and tremble. Are they mauve or grey? What kind of feathers are they? I had so many questions about that hat. It was the kind of hat that is pure illusion though it pretends to exist in the ordinary world. There it was again, and this time its owner was bashing the ice around her own iced-in car with a plastic shovel. She was showing admirable strength but was not getting anywhere, and here was I, metal shovel at the ready, and no upstairs man to be seen. What a perfect time for me to get my first, close-up look at that splendid hat in all its tremulous glory! I put on my coat and boots, and hacked cascades of ice away from her wheels until they came unstuck, while we had a conversation which I somehow understood, though it was in French. Only when I arrived back home did I realize I could have worn my new superhero cape. 

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On March 4th, 2011 01:02 pm (UTC), Marilee Pittman commented:
lovely painting and a lovely story....
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