The Visit with Wilson

 

 

It was, dear reader, a revelation.

It was Wilson losing his mind this side of the picture window.

And the ocean beyond the bluff. And his hat, jaunty. And Wilson in it

looking for all the world like Harrison Ford.

It was the old black lab and the wood fired stove.

It was Wilson’s question, dropped, just as the fire penny

banged its deaf cymbal into the Pacific.

It was a preamble of crows, a zig zag in time, wing-flap-stop

on the telephone line.