near to the Vale of Health, a seat in memory of Norah Lawrence
...a wren flies low across the path leading down to the water... a street lamp is already lit on the other side, on a path through the woods between the village and the surrounding city... the lamp came on automatically... in the automatic way that the leaves are falling now and others will reappear in spring...
...so does this mean that automatic technology is essentially the same as nature... is part of it perhaps, but is also part of our morality, and wish, or dread... a coincidence of thought and nature... (these words strike me as formative, perhaps dangerous)... but the orange light (of sodium discharge) shines steadily, like a sun or a star, and is reflected in the surface of the pond, itself artificial (the water is held back by an earth dam, the path opposite runs across it)... a crow flies across the sky and so does an aircraft, while a group of seabirds (terns?) soar and swoop above the water and then settle on it...
...i see it's four o'clock when i should take an antibiotic so i reluctantlly stop writing and return home as i forgot to bring the pills with me...
...i climb a steep slope through brambles to reach the highest point (Whitestone Pond, surrounded by traffic) from where i stop again to look at the setting sun throgh some trees on the horizon... the sky is as beautiful as ever, many horizontal streaks of cloud in delicate colours...
...as i sit at the bus stop a car turns off from the stream of traffic and proceeds through a gate that opens automatiacally...
...a bus comes and stops for me... another passenger gives me his seat and so i am able to continue writing... the bus is full of young people returning from school in thier uniforms...
...ah!... school... to me that is the discordant element (in what i am describing)... the wrong cement, i might call it, the element that is keeping us from changing at the pace of our creations!... as human bricks in a wall that should never have been built, is that it?...
... these thoughts may seem like confusion or mystery but they are neither... they could be the basis, as yet inexact, of something i seek that already is...
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© 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 john chris jonesIf you wish to reproduce any of this text commercially please send a copyright permission request to jcj 'at' publicwriting.net (replace 'at' and spaces by the @ sign)
