||[Aug. 19th, 2005|10:27 am]
"I am not broken but the jug is," said Marlene, picking herself out of the ditch. She held up a shard of pre-Minoan pottery. "This was worth more than all the perfumes of Arabia." |
The horse carried on down the road, past the windmills, past the cottages, past the groves of nut trees. Peasants looked up from their labour in the fields and were surprised to see it- A white mare, fully harnessed, trotting along with its nostrils in the air- but without a rider.
Marlene sat down on the bank and picked daisies. "All these flowers," she said, "and no pot to put them in."