Netherlandish Baroque. A Jacob Vosmaer still-life, except that the Medaglia d'Oro espresso can brings in an Italian touch--which better suits the stormy arrangement. Actually, the flowers aren't arranged at all--they've been just this way for a long time, my intermediate zone between Wurster and the world.
I think that's a figure down below, someone leaning back against the parapet, legs extended--and the light through the eucalyptus again shows the time of day--early evening. It's later than that now, here where I write--all stars and darkness. I'll head out for a walk soon, take a respite from all this attentiveness. Or is it obsession--as if to tell each story, sometimes again and again, would free me to say finally goodbye...
.
No comments:
Post a Comment