HIGH TIDE
How often will I be lifted up at the spectacle of the tide, the slack tide! Crushed by the power used, admired as moon and sun might snatch prodigious mass inertia, move as thrust sheets to throw, in grand style on a ledge of the continent. And I agree that the achievement deserves the exclamations that rise from the beaches, the exuberance that it arouses, by imitation: here indefinitely lavished on the man, vigor and novelty, patience and the invention, the permanence and transformation.
I long to notify me of another tide, it does not last six hours, but six months or more, whose amplitude is not far from fifty feet but not exceed one hundred, who can contemplate many places where the tree grows, and deserves no less enthusiasm.
One comes to us from the other side of the earth. Massive, compelling, and thunderous, it is Elsewhere marine mariner, whose horizons, to run its course, would be ragged before our eyes. - "Running full speed, pushing the shoreline! "Said the stream.
- "Staying where I am and fix me with obstinacy, said the tree. Only in Macbeth that forests start walking! And all the combined forces of the earth and the sky did convince him to take a single step. - "Deploy, storm, recover! "Cry the turbulent waters. - "To be content with a horizon, but expanding, but set themselves up for the stretch," murmurs the tree. And if possible, culminating, as I deal with the air. "
The stretch of sea is crowded with peaks of a moment, the top of a tree is intended to fixed star - the clarity mother of pearl. Also, holding me in a grove of three centuries (it was there syzygy tide!), And designing one could get under way towards a star appeared in the sky, I never tired of questioning every leaf ultimate. And admire the omnipotence of the sun.
It was almost summer. No one remembered the last downpour. Who would have dug a deep trench in the clearing, would have seen oozing rock. But it seemed as if, through the plant, the aspiration of the star provoked the water beneath our feet, like birds flocking molecules which have to migrate, earning a hair dark hair and the canals of the sapwood to lead the green light of a limb, or half-day of a needle.
I have often praised, Sun! when you lend a hand to the Moon to stir the ocean and the housewife, her quilt, but you never seem to me more powerful than super (such as those who drink with a straw), water unlikely until it is sublime in the highest, and with it, fiber, cork and parenchyma, and the darkness night and mineral plant.
Open water do you know the tides side where you agree. You make them surly, you push them to the point that they end s'entremordent; you harass them so much, they run out of steam in a few hours while they can, days run their course. But the scarce water that you raise, Sun, you see her stagger towards you, large or petty, but countless palms grateful.
For me, a deciduous tree is rebounding as the waves, full of openings, which arise from the clash of water and rock, except that it does not collapse, does not resolve into foam, but that it welcomes the bird in its spongy mass as a result of coral reef fish.
Am I tired of the tribulations of unresolved water, scavenging, toys, decor terrestrial and moods of the sky? I'm heading towards the forest as a high tide rather than lateral, transverse - erratic, but vertical and fixed, where scavenging is unknown.
I enter with the feeling of being admitted to a multi-pillared temple at paving Ocellated, where the office is started (it is at the elevation!) Except that it is not a building but a powerful base of water, driven by the sun, would have turned into tree trunks, branches and leaves - and the shadow is an impalpable water, astringent, which flares your nostrils, when the real occult and clogs your life.
we would have too long muffled roar of pebbles to large rebuffed? masses of gravel access by kicking it over the strikes? or the crackling of dry sand facing the mesh of the foam? It is here that we hear the breeze for the sap to rise - by what gaps? - Or down, Mother, for the phloem sieve tubes, would the botanist. I have long loved the passion of the tumultuous Atlantic waters tossing their wild oats, and their Wild all volts of mares neck and mane. I aspire to be a rumor that hissing floss, pongee, of raw silk, shantung of ... And here comes the wind after the break: when he weaves the warp fibers of a wood, it seems not snoring of antique looms, in a valley?
I do not expect a forest, a serenity which she lacks: it was played light, there is atrophy, it is stifling remotely while rival and shadow is the same venom. A wave kills Navy, overrides the barrier, the water that has gripped handle, along a trunk, demonstrates the power explosive in the branches and foliage up to its consistency, the tree, a greenish rock, tapped by pholades.
I ask the tree canopy to any of the effects of another order, beginning with the most common. I have been talking of the shadow of the sea: I stood on a shore that she had cleared more than in a clearcut forest. When the suffocating our blurs boundaries, empoisse our palms, forehead beaded, invoke, and each sub-hardwood whose shadow I'd be a dense skin and adjusted, a light-hearted approach attempted by the dance.
But I have other reasons, most unique, haunting high tides plant. There, each wave crashing down my scattered thoughts as to clap, we shattered a gathering of birds there, the pages "all dazzling" soared - in leaves. I learn here in contention until the exuberance and the wisdom in the sight of a thicket. Here, where the prevailing unanimous, we do not put my mind to pieces, but they tell me and edifies me - for "a methodical conquest." Here, I mean what I say!
There, moon and sun cast streams share and secondly, they mix, knead and churn, make them furious, but the water remains water. While held in a grove of chestnut trees, under the linden of the court is to see what a sun at the minutia of a chaser, the patience of embroidery can be a little water, salt Minerals and time. Not to mention the smell, and neither the bee that makes it sound.
Still have I said everything. Too much breeze, too smash coastal marine render sterile the foliage. It's an orchard enclosed by walls braided lichen, that should be written as a praise of the sun that makes him full justice. Because if it is a feat of hoist a lineament of water, a long aspiration to the point where blink blink and dizziness, is miracle of changing water into sap and juice it into a pulp of irradiating flavor.
Also, do I leave that to cover the place where Sun and Tang Suc wear their best initial common.
- This is also the Snake! a voice whispered into my insidious.
more reason!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Whispers ...
The love
In this walk which was to take me to my loss, it was less a desire to challenge myself that the canopy of a sky hung with navy rumor, the smell of resin, ash sand beneath our feet, among the tufts of heather, and my hand chatting with yours: you know how to choose your associates, your matchmaker !
* The lover
It is good that the ocean is very close to our house to talk about upheaval, uprooting, embraces, looting ... And well there is a coastal forest - warm lustrous fur of sea wind - where listen to magnify our fervor in many attachments.
* François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.
0 comments:
Post a Comment