She was aware that it has changed little over the years. Yes, there are potions and learned explanations. But do they count for much when your body does not respond to your will, does not respect your wishes, does not radiate in the presence of a loved one?
Illness is a little death, a precursor loneliness of the ultimate solitude to come. Too soon.
Bring me back once more, good Doctor. One more time. A walk outside, however brief, where the air is bright and moving and breeze borne birdsongs please the ear and heart. A greeting from one passing, "Ah, lovely lady, you are as I always remember you."
Another autumn day of orange light. The grey winter evening comes so swiftly.
Thanks to The Mag.
10 comments:
Some wise thoughts in there, such as sickness being a taste of death.
Ah, but is she really ill or did Jan Steen have other ideas ?
Illness is a little death, a precursor loneliness of the ultimate solitude to come...nice....that line caught me...
and the longing to be brought back once more was powerful for me...
This is so sad!
"Illness is a little death," just like autumn is summer dressed for the approaching winter.
This was beautiful. It made me smile and think of the seasons ;-)
She has her yellow silks on and it looks like she is eager for another kick at the can. Does this doctor from the 1600's have the juice she so desires, so she might dance in the cosmic wind one more time? Great poem, DCW. I hope she gets to hear another birdsong. Thank you for sharing this.
A final wish to be whole again.
Very moving.
To live just one more day, to be seen, admired, appreciated - clearly.
Ahhhh, this is lovely.
Ahh DCW , it is as though you have died many times before , elegantly.
So beautifully written...
healing power of the soul
Such beautiful words, so beautiful I read it (with pleasure) several times. Thank you.
Anna :o]
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