Refuge
continues to be taken in the imagination. Revive, forget. Real-time
encounters and digital declarations. The words in which I might have
once detailed them have fled abruptly, as has the need to do so. The
mind, not the page, contains all now. It flicks through at random
these deposits of memory constantly looking for something … perhaps
a reason for why I am as I am, why things are as they are. Is there a
pattern? A puzzle to solve?
How
participatory does one need to be in the act of life? Does chance,
for example, need to be nudged?
Are
some just meant to live in the shade?
Picture credit: Softening Shades of Twilight, 1993, Eyvind Earle (source: WikiArt)
From journal, October 2023.
THE END
