Saturday, April 4, 2009
I would write an ode to the sun, but the competition’s fierce. It is setting now, off to my right, limning the sea, the sky, my arm hairs as I type. (I love that T. S. Eliot made beautiful the hairs of a woman’s arm.)
It is the eve of my departure for the continent with the most deadly of everything I’ve ever read about: box jelly fish being number one. And it just happens to be their breeding season.
I think I’ll look for the most lively of things there instead. I'll let you know . . . .