The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
Hey Joanna this is fantastic stuff!
ReplyDeleteI hope you don't mind my purloining this for my Random Vid Clips blog... of course I gave your name and linkback and all...
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