Wednesday, January 18, 2012
•time•
Besides my breath, it has been the most constant feature of my life. Like my breath, elastic. Like breath, too, unfathomable. Magic. After all these years, during which I have (we all have) steeped in time, I still don't understand it. I still underestimate its power, its scope. I am still looking, with crazy eyes, on the next two hours, as though they will billow and stretch and draw in all my hopes and dreams. I am still looking to sail on through, on the strength of minutes. Improbably. Clinging to seconds, those thirty tiny ticks that sometimes go on and on. xox
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Backward, forward, and NOW - we measure time but can't control it. Your writing always grasps at something that makes me think. Thanks, Amy.
ReplyDeleteAw, well thank you for the compliment, Barb! But this beautiful little piece is all Lis. (You can always check who wrote a particular post at the bottom of the post. We also tend to format our titles differently--Lis uses those bullet points around hers.)
DeleteI'm so flattered that someone thought my prose was like Amy's! What a treat to come home to, after a v. long and v. silly day. xox
Delete(Awwww, shucks. Thanks, you. xo)
Delete(And Lis, this *is* a beautiful little piece. With a bit of a desperate edge.)xoxo
ReplyDeleteWhoops! Sorry gals - I'll try to make sure who it is writing! Anyway, Lis, I like the piece a lot.
ReplyDeletenice, bunny stinker
ReplyDeleteI adore you, Andrea. :)
ReplyDeleteSailing through, on the strength of minutes...those thirty tiny ticks that sometimes go on and on.
ReplyDeleteHow do you deal with the other thirty?
xox,
Deedle
Thanks, Dad. Ever the editor. xox
ReplyDelete