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544 pages, Paperback
First published September 27, 2011
What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night
the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime
the little shadow which runs across the grass
and loses itself in the sunset.
~Crowfoot
All men who had been in battle knew things she would never know. She was eavesdropping. But she, waiting without word for weeks, being with Victor when the visions plagued him, knew things that men did not seem to remember.
Perfecting it. Making it – realer, or less real ... We are only pointing at the moon, but it is the moon.
A summer evening. Moths dance in the lights outside the opera house.
...
Fresh red velvet: crimson lake, bright blood, the colour of love. Murmurs cease as the violins come creaking into tune, their mild excitable cacophony resolving into sense and meaning, into A, the one note they all seek. In the audience, silence falls. The cessation of visiting, the folding of programmes, the last adjustment to the seats.
Tips of shoes show beneath the bobble-fringe -- a quiet rumpus, that must be the girls.
The bandmaster taps his stand.
It is about to start.
Breathe in --
What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow which runs across the grass
and loses itself in the sunset.
- Crowfoot