a window to walk away
– Aram Saroyan,
from Aram Saroyan (1968)
at a loss
There is something outrageous in a person’s misdirecting a traveller who has lost his way and then leaving him to himself in error, yet what is that compared with causing someone to go astray in himself? The lost traveller, after all, has a consolation that the country around him is constantly changing, and with every change is born a new hope of finding a way out. A person who goes astray inwardly has less room for manoeuvre; he soon finds he is going round in a circle from which he cannot escape.1
– Kierkegaard, Either/Or
(but taken from The Seducer’s Diary, p.6).
- To those who might be concerned that I am a bit out of sorts, let me assure you I am quite well, but I liked this passage and am making note of it for later reference or amusement. [↩]
The rooster runs across the bare uneven ground towards the barn like a samurai from some black and white film you can half remember seeing, sunlight pooling on his rusty black feathers.
In the kitchen there is hope for another cup of coffee, thick with sugar, and lavash with a hard-boiled egg, yolk apricot-colored, and a pinch of salt.
But the chariot waits outside the church and there is no stay, even for the purple.
The family cow ate some noxious weeds and fell and was butchered. The neighbor’s dog ate five of the youngest chicks and was thereafter executed. One chicken wandered into the latrine and drowned. Ten chicks mysteriously died in their box. For the anniversary of a death in the family, they slaughtered a sheep, slitting its throat to the spinal cord, its legs twitching like a dog asleep. The sad-eyed white dog watched with her pups.
In October and November the apples will be as large as a fist and sweet to eat. Now they are the size of cherries and bitter or sour, as chance strikes them. The cherries are sweet from the tree, red and cream colored. The apricots are ripest and juiciest and respond to bruising with increased sweetness. This cannot be said of most things.