Today was another gorgeously sunny day (and the last day of the week-long Labour Day holiday), so I went for a long afternoon of idle dawdling and work avoidance. I took my favourite, fabulous Flann O'Brien book with me for a bit of dipping, and was entranced by this lyrical passage about waking on a sunny morning. Perhaps a narrow second favourite to the bicycle ride through the country in the dead of night which I posted on here last month, but still wonderful. This is the kind of stuff that makes me throw up my hands in despair and abandon all foolish hopes of becoming a 'real writer' myself.
I lay back and took to my habit of gazing out of the window. Whichever day it was, it was a gentle day - mild, magical and innocent with great sailings of white cloud serene and impregnable in the high sky, moving along like kingly swans on quiet water. The sun was in the neighbourhood also, distributing his enchantment unobtrusively, colouring the sides of things that were unalive and livening the hearts of living things. The sky was a light blue without distance, neither near nor far. I could gaze at it, through it and beyond it and see still illimitably clearer and nearer the delicate lie of its nothingness. A bird sang a solo from nearby, a cunning blackbird in a dark hedge giving thanks in his native language. I listened and agreed with him completely.
2 comments:
Aah, the "long afternoon of idle dawdling" is a favorite of mine, too, though it is definitely a learned trait and one I'm always happy to have learned.
This passage is a good passage, but it doesn't disqualify you. I hardly think you should despair.
I saw a woman reading "The Kite Runner" today and was reminded of its beautiful language. Have you read it?
I heard the film adaptation of The Kite Runner was partly shot in China. You know anything about this?
I read about filming The Kite Runner here in City Weekend a month or so ago, but I don't know anything about when it's supposed to be ready for release.
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