after time …
Much of poetry—and for that matter the rest of the Arts—is time based. A Latin master many years ago at school recited a verse in that ancient language, held us spellbound, and on completion asked us what we thought. The Latin used was far beyond we tyros but one ventured “Was it anything to do with a horse?” and he was spot on.
Hell, it was obvious—you could feel the horse galloping in the very rhythms.
Timing, timing, timing: is everything—
So, there I was, passing quietly through the shrubbery in the park with camera in hand. I was hunting mushrooms, but luckily for me my reflexes were just a little faster than those of a startled bunny—
—and he got shot. Last week I got a rabbit too but that bugger was well aware, I got the feeling he was actually playing with me. Damned lunch …
ON TIME, THEN
or the ravages thereof: IF any human artist tried to turn a coated brick wall into a wabi masterpiece it would always show, but Father Nature (Father Nature? Am I not allowed to be non-sexist PC here too?) is a patient expert—
—and such conversion is termed ‘incremental change’; Nature is a genius in that field.
to philosophy and the great question: what can be bought and paid for, measured, never grasped, never pocketed, never taken home … but often felt etc etc?
And of course the answer to this challenge is ever and always Time.
—and you just try parking a car there without paying. Ol’ Wilson gets a bit grumpy if he catches you. Stroll through Invercargill at any time and time after time you’ll find these things in the most unlikely of places; but Willie must be coining it.
In the meantime The Spouse is making “Let’s get with it~!” subtle hints (if you can call those flashing eyes and twitching fingers subtle) so I’d better taiho here and head for the looooong overdue haircut. Just hope I get there in time … so that’s all you get this time.