Shining Road

—-

what she loved were the flashes of beauty in poems, the way the poet chose just the right word for a meadow or a river, one that made her realize there was more to meadows and rivers than she’d thought, that they had whole worlds hidden inside them. it was a different kind of magic, poetry.

—-

….but then the hand grabbed back with unexpected strength and she wondered if bravery was such an admirable thing after all, or just a nicer word for stupidity.

—-

sometimes i wonder how many beautiful words there are in the world that i shall miss out on because my life has been different from other people’s.

—-

truth lies in the scriptures and nowhere else. science does not reveal it: science is barely a feeble flame lighting the handwriting of god.

—-

in the so-called catalog of witches and harpies, this precise definition could be found:

she who causes another ill; she who shows evil intent; she who casts sidelong looks; she who stares into the eyes unabashed; she who goes out at night; she who nods off during the day; she who is sad; she who laughs excessively; she who is distracted; she who is devout; she who is easily frightened; she who is courageous and stern; she who goes to confession often; she who never goes to confession; she who defends herself; she who accuses by pointing with the index finger; she who has knowledge of distant events; she who knows the secrets of art and science; she who speaks many languages.

alex wondered how many catastrophes had begun with those words.

topaz was wonderfully patient—but i sometimes wonder if it is not only patience but also a faint resemblance to cows.

….

when are you ever done with the story of someone you love? you turn the most precious of your memories over and over, wearing their edges smooth, warming them again with your heat. you touch the curves and hollows of every detail you have, memorizing them, reciting them once more though you already know them in your bones. whoever thinks, recalling the face of the one they loved who is gone: yes, i looked at you enough, i loved you enough, we had enough time, any of this was enough?

….

the trick is never to let down your guard. never think you are safe. never take for granted that your children’s hearts beat, that they sup milk, that they draw breath, that they walk and speak and smile and argue and play. never for a moment forget they may be gone, snatched from you, in the blink of an eye, borne away from you like thistledown.

and she frequently forgot,

that her body (all our bodies) is a house of sand.

that it had shattered and is shattering still.

slipping stubbornly through fingers

.all whiteness.

with your eyes, i will see the deepest, most dazzling place within a white cabbage, the precious young petals concealed at its heart.

with your eyes, i will see the chill of the half-moon risen in the sky.

at some point those eyes will see a glacier. they will look up at that enormous mass of ice and see something sacred, unsullied by life.

they will see inside the silence of the white birch forest. inside the stillness of the window where the winter sun seeps in. inside those shining grains of dust, swaying along the shafts of light that slant onto the ceiling.

within that white, all of those white things, i will breathe in the final breath you released.