HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
when one has lived alone for a long time, the quiet begins to talk to you.
the quiet is sometimes unkind, when you are unkind to yourself.
an incongruous memory came back to me of me in the boat heading from obs.