What might have happened in the next minute or two one may speculate about, yet never definitely know, for in the instant of profound silence that followed Hank's roaring voice, and as though in answer to it, something went past through the darkness of the sky overhead at terrific speed—something of necessity very large, for it displaced much air, while down between the trees there fell a faint and windy cry of a human voice, calling in tones of indescribable anguish and appeal—
Then it woke me this morning.
The shutters are banging, and I'm wondering if we need to close them. There may be snow. Or not. There were a few flurries last night. And I should bring in some more firewood. I was going to clean the fireplace out, dump all that ash into the woods, but now I'm thinking that may wait until we see what the weather's about to do. It's 34˚F and feels like 24˚F. There are streamers of blue and white and grey vying for control of the sky, and from my window I can watch it all, the battle rushing past above the woods.
This is one of the worse Painsdays I've had in a long time; there's ground glass in my feet.
Yesterday, I did revisions on Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird #3 (new pages 3, 4, 5, and 6), and I think it's ready to go back to Daniel at Dark Horse. I think. If so, today I can get back to work on #4. I was only four pages into it, last week, when I stopped to wrestle with the mess. I have forty pages to go. If I can just manage four day, I'll be done on the 28th, which is my goal.
That's what I have to try and do. Was a time, a thing like that, it would have been a breeze.