Locus Amoenus: a sibilant percussion

Sunday, June 24, 2012

a sibilant percussion

She loved the air after a hard rain, and the way a forest of dripping leaves fills itself with a sibilant percussion that empties your head of words.

Prodigal Summer, Barbara Kingsolver.

1 comment:

Roxanne said...: Would you believe me if I told you I was just thinking about how I miss your blog? The expression "a sibilant percussion" brings me almost as much joy as a Locus Amoenus update in my Google Reader.; 3:34 AM

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the journey (oliver)

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

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Sunday, June 24, 2012

a sibilant percussion

1 comment: