by Tim Gilmore, 7/17/2012
In the middle of the small shopping mall, by one of the anchor stores, was a pond, surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence, with swans in it. Nothing so haunted a young boy as the muteness of swans in a pond in the echoes of an enclosed shopping mall. Nothing, but the things he said. Unearthly echoes in the fog on the nocturnal earth. Enclosed. Long ago night in the afternoon of long ago.
