"Ashes of Roses" by James Tate

[novapsyche]

Ashes of Roses, by James Tate

A glen is a secluded narrow valley. That
required some thought because I wasn't sure if I
was in one or not. A raven dove at me and I dove
back. The periodic table ripped through my mind.
I was beginning to like it there, the mushrooms,
the fog, the root beer, the mayonnaise, the lepre-
chauns. Once the suds of the root beer had washed
over you everything about the glen was tastier.
Even the brussels sprouts and the purple mountain's
silver cloud.