“…and they stood for a minute or two in anticipation of the delicious chill, and the radiant green valley of childhood summers unfolded gently in their hearts.” Hesse – Rosshalde
I’m in a drought of Hesse right now. I think it has left a small void, some synapses misfiring, losing those connections that his wonderful descriptive abilities inspire. I used to write more like this:
“Hidden away here, a little like the wind that makes its way to a house that’s not a home. It’s an empty night, about to buckle in suspense, not able to decide whether to pull back the thin layer of clouds masking the stars, or to prolong another few gloomy hours of grey. The past several days hang somewhat like this, under a thatched roof teetering atop my head, simply refusing to make sense, nor really wanting to.” 05/21/07
Some lyrics from the other day:
Was that you with the hair cropped close to your ear?
Is it you I forget about, year after year?
Is that you, all tattooed, lookin hard in the mirror?
Is that you walkin up, grin bigger than your face?
Is it you, talkin rebellion and steamin up the place?
Was that you, dancin hard, makin me chase?
Oh old times have a tendency to flood back in when you least expect them to. Not sure where from, or how they got there. Just pull the rug from under my feet.
