[about]
[archive]
[notes]
[profile]
[library]
[diaryland]
2008-12-28 - 5:33 p.m.
thick fog over snowmelt
there's an implacable wind rushing in through the trees. everything is blue in this light.
* * * 'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; They called me the hyacinth girl.' Yet when we came back, late, from the hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. � t.s. eliot, "the wasteland" (1922) * * * listening to: the depreciation guild - digital solace. reading: lois mcmaster bujold. the vor game. in the bathtub. working on: putting one foot in front of the other.
|