Wednesday, August 22, 2012

A Gradual Evocation

a form emergent in the gradual evocation itself celebrating the eternal meaning of all that which passes.
I reach back far. I am reaching back far-to the orange crate on the lawn-to the sublime solitude, alone, with my Notebook and my pen.
African violets often occupied my mind, I would see them when I went within-purple and yellow on black velvet-or it was of their care and maintenance my mind was full-a single leaf, its stem planted firmly in the soil, puts down roots, brings forth life, blooms-a car passes-the child takes note-an out-of-state license plate-Delaware-Delaware-the word was so lovely, as lovely as the silver star shining brightly in the not yet dark sky-The child looked up, and, looking down, made another note.
"The bright star appeared before the fall of night." He liked how that sounded. He liked it a lot. He mulled it over in his mind. "It is not the statement that is made," he had then thought, "rather it is the word-the word and with it the thing. The word and the thing."

1 comment:

  1. I've been longing for another African violet, the darker the purple, the better.

    The word and the thing. I think I understand.

    Love,
    Rosie

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