In the House in the Dark of the Woods

by Laird Hunt

“Oh, it’s a merry thing, this heart of yours,” she said. “It’s like a drink in a small glass on the deck of a storm-tossed ship or a shout in a fiery room.”

As we stood there, and as the night crept forward, a thought dressed as a memory came to me.

Once upon a time there was and there wasn’t a woman who came home from the woods.