Wednesday, April 24, 2013

April 24

I could not become what the green spring asked of me nor could I speak plainly of the lake, the pond, the river, the bay, or any place where tides changed the waterline. I let it wash my feet. A cloud overcame the sun, which had only scarcely recently arrived. The sky became watery, trespassing on the province of another element. All the birds took it into their pineal glands to leave, just then, darting off like so many schools of minnows. Only this minute are they every one gone. I could not hamper the departure of anything that wanted to leave, despite my despite. And I could not fail to notice how lovely was the desolation of my soul as it reached to and confided in the desolation of the empty world around.

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