Winter 1955 – Richer Than Blood, Thicker Than Oil

 

The black pool rippled from its center. None of us had moved. Here in the Delaware’s basement there was no wind. The ripples reached the edge of the pool, rebounded and curved. No longer circles they formed a series of twisting spirals. 

I put my hands on Rosa and Dwight’s shoulders and drew them back, one step, two, then as far as the stairs. The spiral at the center of the pool began to elevate, becoming a turning, rising column.