The Animus Dreams of St Gabrielus’s Weather Vane

‘When, On Christmas Day the North Wind blows true I point heavenly in the direction the good wind blows.’

‘And then 364 other days of weather, blow me, I’m left and right and all around, around and around, around and around, around and around.’

‘The birds shit on me, on me, and all around me, all around me, all around me.’

‘The sunshine cracks my paint and makes it blister all over me, all over me, all over me, all over me.’

‘The rain gets into the cracks made by the sun and rusts me all in, rusts me all in, rusts me all in.’

‘On high days and holidays in creatures lives, I hear hollering and see arms and hands pointing with the excited yelps of the young.” Look at the weathervane, they say. ‘Which way is it pointing?’ ‘Can’t they see?’

‘You know something, I don’t believe you can tell which direction the wind is blowing by looking at a weathervane like me any more than you can tell by spitting into the wind. Nobody comes out to check on me, on any day routinely.’

‘The light falls on me then fades away each day, which is what I suggest you do.’

‘Then, when you are refreshed come back and paint me, a nice gold leaf will do.’

 

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