I WILL STRIDE, WITHOUT RELENT, UNSTOPPING
IN THE TIDE OF TIME — AND CEASE NOT, THE
TURNING SEAS, SIEZE: TILL THE SEASON — NO MORE.
As I contemplate the relentless, it’s so — that the movement of anything, everything, continues, far beyond our own impressions of abatement. While the sense of stopping might be seen in our own experience of death, even so — all continues.
I’m thinking about the rain — and watching the rippling trillions of drops, passing by as my boat takes me into the harbor. It’s not my boat — but I’m crossing in it. I’m going out into the channel, and that all becomes the metaphor of movement, rowing forward — as I’m crossing, the waves become bigger.
But I’m certain they started with the raindrops, as my crossing began — relentless, their passage — as they ripple through me, in my transiting, from the place that I’ve been to the place that I’m going.
Back, the seeding [ l a t i n ] — lentus — a supple viscosity; lithe, that stroked measure out to the beyond.
GIRVIN | USING IMAGINATION: CREATING PLACE
DESIGNING ENVIRONMENTS | PLACES THAT SELL | PLACES TO EAT