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She paced the bank of summertime then stopped to cock her head. She heard sound beneath sounds behind and beyond the easy flood: gravel rubbed against itself growling deeper than the lighter murmurs of the upper wash deeper than the faint lapping of the tiny tide rising at the shoreline skirt. She closed her eyes to imagine and was instantly the stream itself-- She was awash with sunlight its early heat bent to the green-blue end of the spectrum its instants flickered from flash to nothing -- all was wet and glistening: A dapple of sunlight struck an underwater mirror yards away -- a minute smoothness of pebble -- and sent the last of its flicker subtly back. She knew all was vision all sightlings of refracted glitter reflected, but barely capturable by language. She imagined, the laws behind the visions: the linear laws governing the dynamics of reflection and refraction of incidence and iridescence and hue and tint and value and shade and glorious, glorious motion down to rest. She raised her head and, eyes still closed, inhaled the watery air, feeling its downstream flow, drawn by the coefficient of water dragging air sweetly laden. It reported the dark tree's root exposed at the cut-bank as it drew its deep sustenance out of the metallic earth. She knew nectars borne to make bee-line and earth-shine. She knew the thinnest hint of distant stagnation: water, still so long, so crowded with life that it putrefied and its warm life-in-death breeze reached her learning nostrils. She knew the slow warmth of life undulant in the bosom of seasons, and knew to wait. She sensed her day and set down this, barely capturing this as she set down this. |
