b,,,,
l,,,,,,,
a,,,,,,,,,
d,,,,
e,

o
,f

,,,g
,,,,,r
,,,,,,,a
,,,s
,s

b
,,,,e
,,,,,n
d
s,,

Adaptation

-------------------------------------------

I must be standing on a hill,
some way from the village.
I can see the vineyards and gardens,
thatched roofs. The stars adrift
in light cloud cover, almost golden
the rolling hills like
a tide about to wash in.
An explosion at the point of perspective,
searing the canvass,
what could have been a tree,
surely a spotlight in the sky,
a fleet of bombers and the hills
the head of a hammer.
Pardon my grammar.
It was a starry, starry night.

-------------------------------------------

the opening of Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett:

A country road. A tree.
Evening.

Estragon, sitting on a low mound, is trying to take off his boot. He pulls at it with both hands, panting. He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again. As before....

-------------------------------------------

from Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra:

Here the young man fell silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside which they were standing, and spoke thus:

'This tree stands here alone on the mountainside; it has grown up high above man and animal.

'And if it wished to speak, it would find no one who understood it: so high has it grown.

'Now it waits and waits -- yet what is it waiting for? It lives too near the seat of the clouds: is it waiting, perhaps, for the first lightening?'

----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------
................................................................................................................................................... is silence............................lack of speech..................time remaining...............as punctuation...........the envelope................words left out...........................what is memory............see the photographs............................shoebox...............kite................burial ground for breakfast.......................................traffic light..........what is the truth about.........when there are many possible truths about..........what are we..................spaces between................................................................................................................................................................................
-----------------------------

Thus Spake the Crow...: Broken...

To thank the Crow for so many years of support and caring...

Visit tartx blog (You know, that "BWO" with a nice silhouette of a crow on the side) to learn more about blogging without obligation. Please feel free to share any ideas or thoughts about why writing in this form is important to you. Why are you a blogger?

Any comments you'd like to leave for the Crow, who is a teacher to so many of us, leave them here. I'll see if there isn't some way to pass them on.

Sincerely,
The Hopper-scribe

Thus Spake the Crow...: Broken...

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-------------------
-------------------
I'd almost forgotten about it until the other day.
When it came it was bubble wrapped and taped,
The tinsel and ribbon poking out through the gaps.
As the UPS guy handed it to me it rattled,

Something inside gave way and the package shifted,
The sound of broken glass. Forget how much you don't want this,
Forget that you should run out into the streets,
Heave it into the air! "It must must have been damaged

In transport," he said. "Hope it wasn't anything important."
He turned and walked away, smug in his assurance
It was delivered as it had been packaged.
The card was stapled on the outside.

Has Anyone Seen Fern?

colourable, best described
windows, frames laying an overcheck
on the path, dark roots a
hush spreads the mist
settling like a song,
corduroy.