Afton on That Which is Strange

I just read a poem on Wayward Fancies, a blog I follow.  Its theme was so exactly like a theme of Fogspill that I had to post the comparison.  Here's the link to the poem: http://waywardfancies.blogspot.com/2013/01/if-life-is-enjoyed.html

And here's my scene:


       “You’re so strange,” she said, stepping forward until I cut into her path.  She’d not touch him.  The greetings had ended, and now no one would touch him.

        "Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“I should say so.”

“Oh.  I shouldn’t, at least not all the time.”

“When is strange good?”

“Anything inexplicable is strange, and it would be a sad world without the inexplicable.”

“There aren’t any inexplicable good things.”

“Night and day are good.”

“But I can explain that.”  

He furrowed his brow.

“The earth spins.  When it spins toward the sun there is day; when it spins away from the sun there is night.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, that’s why there’s night and day.”

“No it’s not.”

“It is!”

“It’s not.  That’s how, not why.”

“Fine!  Why do you think we have night and day?”

“I don’t think anything of why.  I know that day and night and the change between are wonderful.  Wonderful and strange.”

My sister twirled her hair around a spiteful finger, then turned and left.

I looked at my friend.  He’d closed his eyes, as if trying to renew some of the strength my sister stole.  I took his hand.  His fingers encircled mine tightly.

“Maybe that’s it,” he said.  “You’re strange, Kiva.  Maybe it was your strangeness that brought you to me.”

Little, in need of revision, and without context; but there you go.