In which a family-run museum provides ‘ghosts’ and history; beer and other sundries on a neighboring balcony; receives visitors and empathy for the crippled girl who was lost long ago– something about her strongly associated with pheasants.

It was a long and detailed one.

In the transcribing of it I was reminded of another dream of War from a few weeks ago; a small group of us standing on a dais nervous and waiting– the women and children unarmed.

Say some words!

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