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.

Tuesday, January 10, 2023

Eve Studies Cezanne's The Basket of Apples

Temptation's lesson says: choosethe uncontested one, pear-shaped, alone,red creeping along its side the way a blushsteals over a man's cheeks when he comes. But I want the one in the middle,the sweet green that holds its shape,the round, sour taste of knowledge.I want perfection. I want what's mine. And if you think that table's impossible,try obedience. 
 
--Carolyn Oliver

 

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