An empty dress stands beckoning like a rebellious scarecrow calling to the curious, the shy watchers, the edge lurkers. Luring them with the singing silence of faded silk and velvet. Her magician’s sleeve, empty, yet full of possibilities pulls you in a delicate arc of embrace into her yesterday; into a day with no tomorrow.
Fly away crow. Don’t let the hollow halls of Rose Hill Plantation capture you. Don’t fall into the gulf of 140 years between your day and that of Misses Mary Gist. Play in your empty sky instead, or your lonely fields. Keep calling to one another, reassuring your existence; measuring your meaning by the strength of your voice.