Monday 16 March 2009


All things come to those who wait.
I sat there waiting, on the small stone by the riverbed. I closed my eyes and lay my face in my hands, carefully balancing my elbows on my knees. How long did I have to wait? Could it be any longer? When did this time end? The river kept rustling on, endlessly. Would it ever stop?
Elle flotte, elle hésite; en un mot, elle est femme.
The bend in the road was so great that I would only see it approaching when it ultimately would. Would I move beyond the bend as to see it from afar? No, staying still was the only way to occupy these thoughts of mine. I would not move, I would rather gather moss. God moves in mysterious ways. Ido not budge, I do not even stare. I am still and all I (do not) see is darkness, I cannot see beyond thy bend, dear road of winding features.
Yet the sound of the river kept pulling me forward, the crowd of liquid motions, dragging me out of my mind.
G. G. Melmoth

No comments: