the early jonquils are blooming, and robert noted that some trees are at least thinking about spring, like the american elm down on cypress, which somehow didn't die when they graded away the hill behind it for a parking lot----
Posted by
tomitron
at
2/20/2008 06:14:00 PM
Each of us is all the sums he has not counted: subtract us into nakedness and night again, and you shall see begin in Crete four thousand years ago the love that ended yesterday in Texas.
The seed of our destruction will blossom in the desert, the alexin of our cure grows by a mountain rock, and our lives are haunted by a Georgia slattern, because a London cutpurse went unhung. Each moment is the fruit of forty thousand years. The minute-winning days, like flies, buzz home to death, and every moment is a window on all time.
john northbrooke, c. 1570
No comments:
Post a Comment