Too many records spoil the broth.
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See them at the starting-gate:
rearing, backing, snorting;silk-bright riders patient;how have they attained this race?they’ve shared a fortitude, horse and rider together:out at dawn in all weathers, focussed, thunderingdown and round the beaten, scuffed-soil track;never a slack training session;they share – without a common languagesave that of the heart – their discipline;share that rare sense of unityonce forged in battle,…
At dawn each day, as
rolled his bedding mat, the Way –the way things are, the way they follow –walked its way beside him.Later, he would take his brush,the ink-block, paper, and the water-pothe filled each day with water from the river,and find a place, among the woods,or by the river bank; where the Waywould teach him old things, seen…
Breakfast. Slick operation. You could
you’ve refined the quantities,the cooking and the timinglike a pro..and eating it – you’re even morebrilliant at that – you caneat breakfast, read the paper,listen to the radio or tv,half listen to the wife and kids,make and take those cellphone calls;then bestow a salty bacon,sweet marmaladey kiss on several lipsor cheeks – and off..But today…
Allé thyngés speke the name of godde.
thatte fore thu yearne to daunce as cheke to chekeas for to sense the savour of here blome;Ware thu watchen; thenne alle thynge schal spekeand telle al worldés hiden metodésthan speké not thatte godde speke of him self;thorough goddes brethe hem brethe thy yeres thereinnehem sondés, hwile thatte ye stonde and boté stare;Hwaet thu! Tak…
The door creaks, as she opens it
echoes through the empty church.The atmosphere inside, this cold cold day,is heavy, as such holy places are;locked now at night; heavy,with what? Anticipation; presence; memoryof all the human emotionsthat have passed through them?There’s still the clinging promise,the fragrance of yesterday’s incense;it could be a midnight cedar forestin its dark wood-scented mystery.She lights a candle, drops…