An English In Kentucky


















February 1st 2010    Tim Candler

    The calendar for this coming year will include celebration of Summer Solstice.   The moon will wax and fireflies will crowd the stars as Honeysuckle bloom haunts hedgerows, and I would then wander naked had I but courage to.

    Can't say that I have in recent years observed Summer Solstice with anything more than a sense of despondency.   And in recent years I have looked upon Summer Solstice as a day of mourning rather than a day of celebration.   But the new me cannot be held to standards iterated by that wretched vestibule of cynicism and grouchiness which was and still  may be the old me.

     Minds that explore might wander the emptiness in search of explanation.   Might look at sunshine on winter woodland and see a pink haze of spring.  Might hear a thawing snow drift.  Might taste a southerly breeze.    Then, such a mind might say these are the elements of causation resulting in a mental atmosphere that decides to celebrate.

     But this dance in my step has no explanation that can be addressed by such a floral tribute to that which lies beyond.   It is another kind of cloud that has lifted.   Patterns of mind that form and drift and as they move bring a happiness or a sadness that is quite unattached.

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