It is an odd thing, Monsieur, that I feel loved by those who have abandoned me.
And of course, I loveyoutoo.
And of course, I loveyoutoo.
(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers Flowers, props upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...
you are just writing incredibly. Oh this burst of invention and discovery makes me jealous. Now I need much more time for good reading...
ReplyDeleteThe ghost in classical literature is inevitably manifested in the most hidden, secret corridor in the psyche. This interlacings of love" is so deeply haunting.
ReplyDeleteThis writing, among the others, is writing that comes forth in that certain hour where the soul is quiet and the spirit speaks. That hour with only the rhythm of the clock pendulum to stimulate the mind's eye and the heart's contemplation.
Blessings~
Brenda, I'm not sure how to express this. Sometimes I have read your writing and felt it was searching for something below the surface. These recent posts, as a series, I feel are beginning to be grounded below the surface.
ReplyDeleteNarrator, thank you, as ever...
ReplyDeleteLaurieglynn, you are so kind, so generous in your comments, many thanks.
this is a funny thing. what has always carried me through your writing is that I think you are always "grounded below the surface" - that is, there is this remarkable sense of looking at things from that other side, viewing the pond from just beneath the water, viewing the heavens from just above the stars...
ReplyDeleteMy comments are intended as compliments. I respect your work.
ReplyDeleteThis makes me think of a moebius strip -- the twists and turns, one side becoming the other.
ReplyDeleteMany thanks, everyone, this is a new process for me, blogging something through like this, entirely, openly, and sometimes it feels very risky, but that's especially what I want, even if, even if...
ReplyDelete