I love train journeys, especially at night.
Lights, lights, lights – they conceal details and smudge shapes,
they fill my eyes – imprecise, beautiful, meaningless…
And the wind – its motion is the same,
it blows the lights through the night and away,
it fills my ears with noise and my skin with sensation –
indistinct, but directional…
It blows the stars out of the sky and memories out of my mind,
and I feel so light without the excess weight…
I find bare winter trees endlessly fascinating.
The branches lead my gaze with hypnotic power, and it follows on and on…
I think it is a visual equivalent of learning and gives the same joy of
discovery:
ordered enough for the mind to create patterns,
with enough chaotic variation to keep it interesting,
to forever suggest the possibility of better, more intricate organization…
Cherry blossoms – a staple of poetry,
they appear so briefly in such profusion…
What is the fascination?
Is it our slightly guilty,
maintenance-free
enjoyment
of the beauty of evanescence?
City at twilight:
its lights and shadows, its lost and self-absorbed…
people in a rush, with no time to stop and people with nowhere to go…
and, in the middle – a memorial to human kindness that makes it all worthwhile.
