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the dark dark wood
Sunday, August 05, 2007

Flatlands - the sunrise coast - sounds so hopeful, optimistic, sunny. All of these things it is - until you find yourself lost in its dark woods, trapped between the fathomless interior of the forest and the soggy quicksands of the estuary. Making the choice between the chin high ferns their curled fingers poised to clutch your ankles, your wrists, to ensnare you truss you like a partridge for the pot - and the breast high reeds waving seductively in the sea breeze beckoning you in until you sink up to your knees in the glutinous salty black mud. Life is full of these choices - the devil and the deep blue sea - the reassuring thing is either one is equally disastrous. And nobody knows where you are. Sometimes you put yourself beyond help. In a clearing a stinkhorn like a seaside postcard leers at me, surrounded by its fly hangers on. A dark moment of the soul which has made the ordinary light of day brighter.
8:13 AM  

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