Michael Malone - Weebly

my disbelief " was the hymn Ramona Dingley
unexpectedly heard.
Second to greet the sun was the town postman, Alf
Marco, who set sail on Lake Pissinowno for the first
time in twenty years. Like Nijinsky, a fish leaped to the
light.
The sun twinkled the eyes in the statue of Elijah
Dingley, whose lopsided smile had warmed passing
centuries, though no one knew whether the sculptor had
envisioned the town patriarch as so affable an
individual, or whether the mallet had slipped. It no
longer mattered, he had grinned for so long.
Into Judith Haig's bedroom where she slept, and
into the trailer park where Chin Lam slept, the sun
shone. The sun shone on Sarah MacDermott and
William Bredforet alike. The sun shone on wild dogs
and watchdogs, on the old grave of Vincent Canopy
and the new grave of Scheherazade the cat. The sun
shone on the Prim Minster and Fred's Fries. On
Elizabeth Circle and on Madder and on Astor Heights,
the sun shone on all alike.
Gloria in excelsis. Gloria tibi, the birds sang.