The great topmost sheet of the mass, that where hardly a light had twinkled or moved, becomes now a sparkling field of rhythmic flashing points with trains of traveling sparks hurrying hither and thither. The brain is waking and with it the mind is returning. It is as if the Milky Way entered upon some cosmic dance. Swiftly the head mass becomes an enchanted loom where millions of flashing shuttles weave a dissolving pattern, always a meaningful pattern though never an abiding one; a shifting harmony of subpatterns.
1 comment:
Not always easy to follow the thread of one's thoughts or a conversation or a story or skein of tangled ideas. Patience, attention, assistance, or a good sharp pair of scissors are useful.... What was I saying?
Post a Comment