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Margaret Atwood

“The willow is full plumage and is no help, with its insinuating whispers.

Rendevous, it says. Terraces;

the sibilants run up my spine, a shiver as if in fever. The summer dress rustles against the flesh of my thighs, the grass grows underfoot, at the edges of my eyes there are movements, in the branches; feathers, flittings, grace notes, tree into bird, metamorphosis run wild. Goddesses are possible now and the air suffuses with desire...

Winter is not so dangerous. I need hardness, cold, rigidity; not this heaviness, as if I'm a melon on a stem, this liquid ripeness. ”


Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale
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The Handmaid's Tale (The Handmaid's Tale, #1) The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
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