Luminous

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My Theme is Memory

That winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time.

55620These memories, which are part of life- for we possess nothing certainly except the past- were always with me. Like the pigeons of St. Mark’s, they were everywhere, under my feet, singly, in pairs, in little honey-voiced congregations, nodding, strutting, winking, rolling the tender feathers of their necks, perching sometimes, if I stood still, on my shoulder or pecking a broken biscuit from between my lips; until, suddenly, the noon gun boomed and in a moment, with a flutter and sweep of wings, the pavement was bare and the whole sky above dark with a tumult of fowl.

Picking at Ideas

It is winter. Ravens are standing on a pile of bones- black typeface on white paper picking an idea clean.raven.snowWhat else are we to do with our obsessions? Do they feed us? Or are we simply scavenging our memories for one gleaming image to tell the truth of what is hunting us?