4 December 2007. Gray on gray, morning rain. Golden Corona bottle splashing into tropical pool (delivery truck), while all around the puddly asphalt sits waiting. A kind of bland and homely anticipation. Lone gull banks left, wings wide, touch of mauve in a damp sky. Another flash of red and gold--boxy emergency vehicle--now gone, replaced by nondescript white panel truck. Signs in windows, orange-red and off-green. Announcing. Gull returns, swooping close, heading up the avenue. Arched and pointed wings...
Last night: pilgrims and penitents. Tuan's work. Narrow column of Vietnamese names, preceded by Dominic, Peter, and John. A church in Hue, half-destroyed, then half-destroyed again. Filling the fields for three-days, dozens of thousands, the claims of faith. Against what odds?
A wayward king...
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