On History
When I lived in the Dakotas,
towns were celebrating only their centennial. Outside a hotel window in Spain stood a deserted church, restorada in 1855, a tree growing out of the belfry. I have learned about time, learned again. When I asked a young girl on her way through the Zuni village what that was, those rocks jumbled around a hole in a weedy vacant lot, she said “The center of the world,” and ambled through that morning toward her school. |
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