Winter Light


“Six billion dollars, Mr. Day,” her words took eerie flight throughout the empty gallery.

It was a Sunday morning and just before dawn. From the first floor of The Old Harbor Gallery, I stood listening and watching beyond the elegant silhouette of the curator and through the forty foot windows. From the eponymously named Cliff’s Edge Lighthouse, the slow rotation of a light filled the gallery and the inlet shoreline of Lake Superior.

“Mr. Day.”

The gallery went nearly dark again. I turned around. The sinewy Hilda Redge, enfolded in a black turtleneck cape, wanted my full attention.

“Six billion dollars is the annual figure for global art crime, sir.”

“And our missing painting jumps that number, of course.”





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)