tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67647724451158077842012-01-22T15:48:17.117-08:00A. A. Attanasiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448196255114712660noreply@blogger.comBlogger31100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764772445115807784.post-45802471384138463342009-05-25T09:13:00.000-07:002009-06-21T18:20:56.909-07:00

Here everything appears near. Dara Egan thought this as a moth. Later, contemplating how a moth could think in words at all, she would have plenty to ponder about the nature of mind and consciousness. At the moment, though, her attention flittered, attentive to air currents of molecular scents, semibreves of fragrance from the thick of things. Pollens wafting over the moth’s antennae contoured

A. A. Attanasiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448196255114712660noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764772445115807784.post-69684503679267847772008-03-16T14:18:00.000-07:002008-12-14T17:15:18.542-08:00

Dara sat at the steering wheel of the department truck, staring through a dirty windshield at stars heraldic as snowflakes. Her key remained unturned in the ignition. For hours, she had barely moved, the glue gone from her thoughts and into her muscles. Ideas didn’t connect, and she couldn’t think clearly about what had happened with the three men.Chimes cosseted her free of the crystalline sky.

A. A. Attanasiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448196255114712660noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764772445115807784.post-85063214796582119072008-02-24T10:06:00.000-08:002008-12-14T17:15:05.511-08:00

She watched them emerge out of a tall, serrated stand of pitch pines, and she stood up from where she had been kneeling close to the loam reading the earth with a small magnifying lens no bigger than a thumbnail. The men seemed to have stepped forth from the land of dreams, and the eye of her mind opened wider at the sight of their odd garments. They wore panes and panels of cracked leather,

A. A. Attanasiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448196255114712660noreply@blogger.com6