To make Comments write directly to Jim at jimt@quixotic.ca
26
Dec
2019
‘Twas the day after Christmas, and all over the floor
lay the littered remains of the day just before…
That’s a cynical view of Christmas. No presents left under the tree, just bags of tattered Christmas wrapping to go into recycling. The carcass of leftover turkey lurks in the refrigerator. The music channel has put Christmas albums away for another year and gone back to golden oldies.
There’s not much left of Christmas.
Or is there?
I rather like the idea that the walls of an opera house might somehow still resonate to Elisabeth Schwarzkopf’s soaring soprano. That a sports stadium might remember Roger Banister’s Miracle Mile. That a street in Jerusalem might remember Jesus’ sandaled feet.
Because that means something isn’t over, just because it’s over.
Categories: Soft Edges
Tags: Christmas, memory, Christopher Plummer, Bruce McLeod
18
Oct
2017
The mallet raps gently against the rim of the bowl. The bowl rings, sings, high and clear.
The sound slowly fades. Do I still hear it? Or do I just imagine that I still hear it? Sound consists of molecules of air vibrating against each other; I know their ripples continue to spread and interact, even when they are no longer audible to my ears.
There is no clear break between hearing and not-hearing. Between tasting and not-tasting. The boundaries blur.
Tags: hearing, Senses, sight, touch. taste, touch, memory