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Subject: Evensong Author: 04-06-99 [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] Date Posted: 20:46:14 04/18/99 Sun If the composer would raise his head into silhouettes of trees, see backdrops faint and grey of the evening sky, he could write of stirs of languid leaves, of breezes like breath on a lover's neck, of miracles come to pardon the day goodbye. He might take pen in hand, doubtless observer, too much to keep in mind at once, and might rush lest some small hue become forever gone, like night escaping to hide in the dark and quiet. He might capture a rush in his hand, feel a struggle against some finite place on a page; but when all is done and his eyes are clear again, he has evensong complete in a single note. ~JB~ [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]