"When everything else has gone from my brain ... what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that." Annie Dillard
Gone is the street behind me, and the house with the long drive beyond. Front and center are the particulars of my yard: the leaf piles at the back, the twisted trunk of the volunteer cherry, the covered garden bench.
Fog makes us all myopic. It takes away the forest and gives us the trees. It provides an excuse for seeing only what is close at hand.
Sometimes I need that.
posted by Anne Cassidy at
8:32 AM
I’m a writer and editor, the author of "Parents Who Think Too Much" and a freelancer published everywhere from the "New York Times" to "Woman’s Day." I’ve been scribbling my thoughts in one tattered notebook or another for most of my life, but this blog is the first time I’ve gone public. I'm glad you've landed here, and I hope you visit often.
Subscribe to
Posts [Atom]
<< Home