36 | Psychopomp Magazine
These hunters are our left-handed interlopers at the convention of the right-handed. They inspire us to wonders of waste and wrangling, they put the light back into our buttons. With one season they knock us off of our balance and give us our magical teeter again for the whole scarves-and-galoshes year.
And the wife said once she thought she saw a Unicorn. A white, shimmering thing, all muscle and lean, with hair that lay flat and orderly, with a huge silver spike jutting from the forehead, looking hand-polished and as smooth as a stone kept too long in a fast-running river. And she remembers thinking: that spike could hurt you. ♦