ignetted, luminous monochromes of houses and yards tick by, as if seen from a train, or a moving car, each thick black frame like a window seal. Children in homemade costumes clamoring on front porches. Ghostly figures of boys suspended in midair. Solitary clapboard houses in bright, slanting sunshine with liquid-white exteriors. The sight of children collapsed in a yard exhausted after playing puts Nancy Rexroth in mind of photographs—
