The Edge
Sometimes I feel as if I am standing on the edge of a great cliff, trying to say something profound.
From my precarious position I look out across the expanse of wilderness as it merges with civilization. I see roaring rivers and myriads of trees moving to music just beyond my range of hearing. I see the endless criss-crossing of roads, the confusing tangle of asphalt.
I stand at the edge, and I make my mouth open as if to speak, but the valley is too big, the words disappear before they are formed.
And dejected, I look down. Down to where my feet touch the earth.
Ah, the ant. Perhaps my words will come nearer to giving justice to the ant than they can for the valley.
And so I speak of the ant and hope, one day, to speak of the valley.
From my precarious position I look out across the expanse of wilderness as it merges with civilization. I see roaring rivers and myriads of trees moving to music just beyond my range of hearing. I see the endless criss-crossing of roads, the confusing tangle of asphalt.
I stand at the edge, and I make my mouth open as if to speak, but the valley is too big, the words disappear before they are formed.
And dejected, I look down. Down to where my feet touch the earth.
Ah, the ant. Perhaps my words will come nearer to giving justice to the ant than they can for the valley.
And so I speak of the ant and hope, one day, to speak of the valley.
Comments
And sometimes we just have to laugh at your sighliness. And sometimes, like now, you succeed.