It was only a moment
when, at the water’s edge the swallow hopped through the water reeds over the fallen, the golden, from which it would make its nest; only a crack in time, when the garlands draped over the stone terraces were loudly buzzing metropolises, trading hubs for gleaming wings and quick appendages. It was only a hollow in cruelty when the swan with the torn leg grazed in the bay and shook the water from its impossibly graceful neck like nature’s Miles Davis or the doyenne of the dance; only a hint of the passing scent of cool white jasmine in the shade or the sweet claws of honeysuckle in the blazing sun or lavender’s insistence upon marrying the tangerine rose. It was only a second in the universe or the universe in a second when I saw the unsettling familiarity in the deer’s brown eye, or the forest’s silhouette in the midnight sun or the view from the lake’s surface under the gull’s cry. A reflection on Midsummer’s Eve.
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August 2024
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