Fragments from a sandstone cliff face in early winter light.
1: I note the present impossibility of loving smoothly. The heart’s Archimedean screw, continually turning to bring up the flow. It must always be spiralling if you want there to be fresh water.
As though the heart’s turning is caused by some attachment to the gyring cosmos making it so.
Blessings never accrue enough to stop the need for them refilling.
I want the blackberries, so accept the thorns. They can be pulled out, replacing their amethyst juice with warm garnet blood. A fair exchange of liquid gems.
A faint anthelion lasted half an hour as I left the archipelago of Brigid2 in October. The promise of a wholeness that can only be glimpsed, not looked at directly. Pierced by a red kite so huge, I thought at first it was a heron.
First published here with full transcript, notes and more images, December 4th 2023.
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