That dang Joseph
Conrad! He won’t let me be such are his words and phrases, descriptions and
nuances,- his atmosphere and environs. Just as I finished writing the entry
about the walk and finding the muse in amidst the wildflowers far urban
settings- in their smell and look- and thinking also about Conrad’s paragraph
denoting the morning sun kissing the sailing ship- he went and did it again.
Only this time,
a few pages later, at the night. Oh, I can hardly explain. The point is that
there was another paragraph where the ship is approaching land, and its
evening, and the light I think from the moon is there, and the sails are, as he
says though I paraphrase,- like untouched snow. And it goes on- there is more.
Ah well. Its
good. Its great. I can’t keep up learning all this. I shall have to only delve
in here or there. Thought and language are linear,- so if he can create an
almost spiritual feeling out of two dimensional words, thinking,- he has,
though sheer talent and hard work and grace and grit, gone against rational
worlds and evoked the spiritual through the everyday tools.
He is an
alchemist.
Well, enough of
that. Today is hot,- again,- and there is some breeze I can see. I may have to
venture to take the canine friends,- and see what the forested pathways bring.
It will break up the day,- and who knows what we shall see?
Surely more
wildflowers at some point, calmly being themselves, and a bee or grasshopper or
both, and possibly the spirit of Conrad himself,- look around and survey the
scene…
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