Brenda looked upward through the fog's swirling shroud and focused on the silhouette of the towering Swamp Maple. The Old Man of the woods was her one...hope. "Where are you? "She cried.Looking down again at her submerging body, Brenda watched in detached fascination as the insatiable soil flowed over her thrusting hipbones. An old Grateful Dead dirge, Blues for Allah, was playing in her memory. The warmth of the gluttonous ooze clenched at her mid-biceps and Brenda could feel the thick soupy. Before Andrew fell asleep, he promised, “I’ll never collar you again.”I felt just as wretched the next day, and the next. Mother ratcheted up our workload exponentially. In one day we cleaned the attic and the guest room. The next, we cleaned her bedroom and reorganized the shed and garage.“It’s Saturday. What shall we do?” Mother announced that morning. It was the first day I could sit down without wincing.We spent the morning at two local museums, one historical, one of the arts. She bought. More

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