November 13, 2009
I sit here every afternoon to watch the sun go down and the moon come up, near to each other -- both low above the horizon.
I do not ask the obvious question: How could that be? The sun and the moon, so near connected? I do not say, That can't be, it's impossible! because I know an infinity of late afternoons where I have sat and watched this same scene -- as if it were a painting! -- and I believe the crows.
I believe the crows. Their mothers and fathers, and their mothers and fathers, on back in time before there were paintings, have seen the same thing I do now, and have eaten the seeds of wheat, and have talked about it all as they do now.
Look! Admire! Plenty! Caw! Caw!
This painting by Vincent Van Gogh was completed shortly before he committed suicide.
Although the sky is indigo, like the textiles from de Nimes, and although my horse is watered and well fed, I am not sure I want to pause here to stare at the darkened towers of that castle on the steep smooth mountain (made of stiff coagulated custard), nor do I want to hallooo to its loneliness. I dare not stop to gaze and wonder:
Why is there a black cloud over that castle, with its many empty windows
and crenelations like filed teeth?
I dare not take the time to look back at my own castle -- to admire the way it smiles at me in its good humor and waves its flag.
Why does my own castle have a light and down-soft cloud above it? Are there two gods of the air blowing? One, his foul black breath, so thick it sinks rather than floats, and the other, laughing as she blows, so her sweet airy breath rises like the good smell of baking bread.
Are there two gods?
I dare not slow down again because now I see the wooden fences that try to keep the dark castle-men safe from land or sea invasion, and I see they have but five warriors left. And are they warriors? or are they widows, left behind?
No-one waits to hear me, but what I have to say is "I am your neighbor. I'm just passing by."