I’ve ‘liked’ this post because there’s no ‘dislike’ button I can press. I understand your reasoning. But I’m going to sorely miss you. There was a time when the only time I could walk in peace was to get up before dawn and stumble around my route in the dark until the sun rose. One winter morning the sky evolved into an intense flawless blue. A moon was full and large and white in this blueness. A grey heron flew soundlessly across it. I felt like I’d fallen into a haiku. I knew it must mean something. Well it did. There was a death. My friend sent me this Basho posthumously via her son:
forever – wild geese
lost in cloud
And now here’s another sort of death. I hope you fly across the moon again as I stumble momentarily from darkness. (And why let the capitalists have all the good blogs). Ann
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Concluding a deliberation upon the theme of withdrawal from one form of activity to pass over into another form of (in)activity, this final post continues the theme of my last – ‘Gathering Splinters from Her Spindle‘. The materials of metaphor and coincidence, mediated through personal experience, likewise are more than a stylistic device in the writing and arrangement of these words. If this exercise appears somewhat ‘grandiose’, I qualify it by the fact that for much of the last three plus years I’ve pretty much put my heart and soul into the blog, so I would rather let it slip away into the ether in a way that’s consonant with those years of effort.
I had no idea, when I published ‘Gathering Splinters’ on the…
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