... women, on a farm at the end of the lane. The youngest of them claims thather duckpond is an ocean. The oldest can remember the Big Bang. The Ocean at the End of the Lane is a fable that reshapes ... bench. The peeling wooden slats had been painted greena few years ago. I sat on the bench, and stared at the reflection of the sky in the water, at the scum of duckweed at the edges, and the half-dozen ... Monkton sympathetically, and she looked at me, and she smiled. Ido not think that either of the other two people at the table noticed that she was smiling, or that therewas nothing sympathetic in...