28th May, 2014

"Come hither, all ye--and thou, and thou...and thou, too, most solitary of all fugitives!" --A--

Call for me also. Call for me, for me as for all the others. Call for me also. Please do not forsake me. I am standing on the rock. I am standing on the sand. My feet are weary, weary. My eyes are salt. I cannot hear you. I do not know what is wrong with my ears that I cannot hear you. I stand in rain, and then in sun, and then in the the slice of the chill Northern Wind. The bushes put forth ghost flowers and glow cool in the gonelight. Does my own skin glow cool in the gonelight? It is only Spring and I am already steeling myself for the Winter. The flowers are only just come and I'm preparing myself their passing. So short a season! Who can tell the difference between lullaby and elegy? Oh trillium...oh darling little speedwell...forgive me. I am a goose. I was weeping for your departure before you ever arrived. 

"Most solitary of all fugitives!"

Call for me also. All this life and all this motion. The gush-gushing of it, the cyclic swoosh of it, the roar and the roll and the whoosh. I must get to higher ground. If I get to higher ground I may at last get to hear you, turn to you, come to you. Where is higher ground? 

I miss Chesterton.