|The farmers declaration: my fantasy|
About ten years ago, my predecessor went to an Antiques Barn Sale way up in Maine and brought back, among other things, a nineteenth c. bust of a mysterious woman which had apparently been left under
a water spout for decades. I was smitten. Serge, the owner of our shop seemed less interested in her than in his score of a full sized French bust which he thought was terra cotta: more on that later.
I adopted her and dressed her up with rose garlands and ribbons for Mothers Day, a crown and necklace
of shells for summer, a wheat crown for Fall and a rather pagan costume of greens at Christmas.
She was traded for an antique italian mirror when I bought the shop and for five years her whereabouts were unknown to me.
A little miracle to find her once again still sweet faced, but pretty dirty perched among a lot of junk. And for sale for a song.
Seagulls coming in from the Bay. Think I'll take the dogs out before it rains.