Hallow
everything echoes the dead and those not yet born returning speech in fragments like a gust of bells A northeasterly, strong and strange, full of rain, blows counterclockwise over the island at the beginning of the month. The air is cold, even though it’s from the north, since it’s been drawn up via the Southern Ocean. Things clang around in the wind, and panes rattle in their frames on what is usually the sheltered side of the house. Trees fall, braced as they are against prevailing westerlies but undefended from the e...