Under the
ballerina's ease floats an unseen sinewy strength from grafting away at
drills on callused toes. Even so I seek the strength to be ever more
conscious whilst maintaining poise. Real life is surely to see all the
burrs and barbs installed in a wider vista.
Were truth not in
the integrity of a leaf, but only in loss, remorse, and anger, I would
have the sense not to pursue it. As it is, I am glad to feel and see so
vividly.
To note the clockwork moves of a goldfinch, or the way
the ivy dotes on the oak; to rejoice when the bus arrives, or the socks
match the hat, or the busker is in tune; to be enraptured by
friendship's kindness, or the scent of soil; to hear an opus in the
moving wheels of a train.
That is life that knows it is alive: life worthy of my sensitivity.
Sumangali Morhall
December 2004
