We leave the windows open so we can hear the surf from a few blocks away.  Guests from last weekend left a couple bottles of wine so we helped ourselves, saving the trip to the store for tomorrow.  Tomorrow a series of silences and the words that fill up silences.

After midnight the laughter of teenagers walking along the sidewalk, glitter and sandals and fingers entwined.  You tell me a story about when you were a kid and you used to come down here with your family--I've…

So in the service of attribution, I research references to the "grey-eyed governess" online, fully respecting the lyrical inspiration of Cymbals Eat Guitars' Joseph D'Agostino (iffy band name notwithstanding) but also suspecting that he'd copped the reference from some arcane literary source.  I mean, it sounds like something from James' Turn…

From the high branches they rain, alighting on the earth and burrowing, down and further down.

Nourished over the years by the roots of the very trees where they were conceived and hatched.

What trigger is it that calls them back into the light, to make the long climb into peril and ecstasy?  Perhaps it is the song itself, tones in search…

Daddy, I remember when you got me my first rifle for my birthday the year I turned 8.  It was always my favorite, and we sure had fun those Saturdays in the woods by ourselves, didn't we?  But then I heard about that thing over in Burkesville and, Daddy, I just started feeling real bad.  

So yesterday I went and fired off all my rounds at that old…