rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Not Exactly

It now seems as though there will be snow every night. I have resigned myself to living in a whitened world which will disolve each day. Early yesterday morning, I noticed small white ridges a few inches long on the walk. Scattered here and there, they were like thin calligraphy of ice, their mesage inexplicable. On close examination, I discovered that they were snow-covered pine needles. Something falls and is itself, and then something else falls and the two things appear to be something other than themselves. Reality surprises me until I examine it, and then I am merely confused. I have no idea what it means.



Sunday Verse

The World and I


by Laura Riding


This is not exactly what I mean
Any more than the sun is the sun.
But how to mean more closely
If the sun shines but approximately?
What a world of awkwardness!
What hostile implements of sense!
Perhaps this is as close a meaning
As perhaps becomes such knowing.
Else I think the world and I
Must live together as strangers and die—
A sour love, each doubtful whether
Was ever a thing to love the other.
No, better for both to be nearly sure
Each of each—exactly where
Exactly I and exactly the world
Fail to meet by a moment, and a word.
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