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.”

About me

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. :)