The Silver Trumpet Brayed

Opening the mouth

To have resorted to this when all the doors were open and the voices of those strange passers-by could be heard even above the noises of the house would have been foolish: I could not have done it then.

So why now, why open the mouth now? Maybe it's the lack of respect, maybe that contempt which seems to pervade every area of modern life that has prompted me to move, maybe something much less admirable. Maybe that dark figure who waits in the shadows beside the kitchen door, who never makes a move nor speaks any word I can hear or understand will find something in these words to move him, something for which he has been waiting for so long. And maybe, hearing what he wants to hear he will, in time, open the door which has been closed for so long - and shall I go through it?

Anna this morning - beautiful, her hair dancing on her shoulders and that russet jumper she wears. What should we make of that? Where should we let that take us? There are so many roads beyond the wicket gate, we cannot take them all, there simply isn't time.

posted by Weasel @ 9:44 PM