You will read these stories again and again, laughing and crying, thinking and feeling. Growing old, love, loss, longing, memory are their bittersweet themes. Their heroes: you, me, Laurel and Hardy or Papa Hemingway. But don't expect slice-of-life realism! Their colour is the pure magic of poetry.
The old woman stopped completely, stared across the stage to that first pillar where the bright maid had begun, long years ago. Then, crying out, but making no noise, the old woman closed her eyes, and with a vast effort of will, wished herself across the stage to that shining illusion. It was such an effort of will that no one saw the old woman vanish, the stage remain empty some five seconds, and then, in an explosion of light, reappear again, gone backwards in years. The maiden reborn with spring and summer grace, not touching the world but drifting through it in a downfall of blossoms and snow, the beauty spun forever around and around, as the curtain fell.