No art can make it: it must spring
Where elements are fostering.
So in heaven's spot and hour
Springs the little native flower,
Downward root and upward eye,
Shapen by the earth and sky.
George Eliot, Middlemarch
thus these elements give birth to a network delicately spun despite the westerly wind, each silver thread bound one to another.
such will be the culmination of events that leads us to our final place, a position ordained before time, etched in the palm of someone's hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment