An unmindful moment ruffles the curtain of years, opens on a boy who kneels between three black stones at the shore of a flat blue lake, kneels to drink, and sees before he drinks the rippling white of the mountain and green of the hills and blue of the sky in reflection, the vast, thirsty, quenching, giving and taking world above and below. To this water, he sets his lips, receives and swallows the nectar of creation, all of it going in, ruffled, parted for a moment, briefly translated, the mountain, the hills and the sky cold and immensely pleasing as they pass over his lips, onto his tongue, into his person. Now he is eternal, for he has sipped from the fountain of youth, and the testimonial remains on the lips of old age.
Visits
No comments:
Post a Comment