On
waking
after the accident I
was presented with the
“whole picture” as they say,
magnificently detailed, a child’s
diorama of what life appears to be:
staring at the picture I became drowsy
with relief when I noticed a yellow dot of light
in the lower right-hand corner. I unhooked the machines
and tubes and crawled to the picture, which turned out to be a
miniature tunnel at the end of which I could see mountains and stars
whirling and tumbling, sheets of emotions, vertical rivers, upside down
lakes, herds of unknown mammals, birds shedding feathers and
regrowing them instantly, snakes with feathered heads eating
their own shed skins, fish swimming straight up, the
bottom of Isaiah’s robe, live whales on dry ground,
lions drinking from a golden bowl of milk,
the rush of night, and somewhere in
this the murmur of gods —
a tree-rubbing-tree music,
a sweet howl of water and
rock-grating-rock, fire
hissing from fissures,
the moon settled
comfortably on
the ground,
beginning
to roll.
December 11, 1937 – March 26, 2016
The Theory and Practice of Rivers,
