What an allusion to my life this last few mornings have been.  A lighthearted impression of day and night.  A record of middle place – resemble spent relationships.  It rings in changes, it rings in a new tone.  A splash that sounds like metal,  I turn my head and wonder what that sound was – splash – no more of an explosion.  An enraged movement of water toward or out of the borders.  A vagueness in the sound of Sycamore leaves scraping each other.  A creak, scrape, click in the cold, wet breeze. This was winter’s introduction.    When it snowed yesterday,  I said I didn’t remember it being cold so soon.  But is it cold sooner or are the universe rotations catching up with me?   A crowd of people I can’t pace.  A prior knowledge of wisdom lost in silliness.  

So, now it’s post-modernism.  (Where the writing goes) a backward toss of the head toward direction and order. So much for Natural Law, that’s gone.  

 

Dave Barber

Opinion of Writing.

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