A Fantasy for Catherine

hunched over the deer's corpse. His jacket looked heavy. Plenty warm even for a chilly night like this. And somebody'd certainly be coming by in the next couple of hours. Ida Mae sucked in a precious small breath and slipped the gearshift into drive. A Fantasy for Catherine (on her birthday) A moon staying late into morning has hung the Swedish ivy upside down across the rug like the shadow puppet of some Oriental giant, conjured from a lamp, eager to do my bidding. The avocado plant stands sentinel beside. Sleep on, little granddaughter, the moon and I will make for you a fox-grape vine to swing on and tadpoles to catch in summer pools tipped with willows. —Bettie Sellers 31 ...