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Posts Tagged ‘image’

 

When we refuse to put away the iconic testimonies of childhood, a harsh nostalgia can grow—a reminder and echo of an ancient voice, “When I became a man, I set aside the things of childhood.”

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What’s he doing, daddy?

What’s who doing, little bit?

That bee.

Oh, he’s collecting pollen from that corn stalk.

Why does he do that? Doesn’t the plant need it?

The plant does need it and so does the bee.

But how can they both use it? The plant can’t keep the bee off.

No, the plant wants the bee to take its pollen.

I don’t want someone to take my toys.

No, I suppose not. But the bee takes the pollen back to the hive for food for other bees.

That’s nice. But what about the plant?

The plant needs some of the pollen to move from one place to another so it will grow properly.

But if the bee takes it, how will that happen?

As the bee moves around on the plant, some of the pollen moves around too and gets in the right place.

Oh, so since the plant doesn’t have any fingers, the bee does that?

Right.

And so the plant doesn’t care if the bee takes what’s left over.

No, I don’t think the plant cares about leftovers.

But if the plant was stingy and didn’t let the bee come over, it wouldn’t grow, would it?

No, it wouldn’t.

But since it’s not stingy, the bee gets to eat and so do we.

That’s right.

And there’s enough here that we can even have leftovers.

Good thing the plant shared, huh?

Yeah, and I’ll share my corn with you.

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The men took great care in picking the perfect site. The hill provided a natural wind break. Still, they planted dense shrubs to provide more protection. They dug the pool and ensured a level base before pouring the concrete. The nobleman employed the finest architects and stone masons to ensure a glassy surface. The day came to fill the pool. The nobleman paced too and fro waiting for the ripples to subside that he might enjoy the perfect reflection of the archway: The Other Way he called it. His servant urged him back inside for the day, to wait for the morning stillness. 

He slept fitfully. Fuzzy dreams and vague thoughts unsettled his sleep. Twittering birds outside his window summoned him from his uneasy sleep. A pale gray wash followed the darkness, giving faint outlines to the objects in his room. He dressed quickly and went out. A steel sky held its breath. The reflecting pool lay calm and still but unrevealing in the dim dawn.

As the light seeped onto the gray palette, the sky exhaled. The moment The Other Way appeared, the breath of morning caressed the pool, sending shivers across the water. The image wavered and danced: a mirage of perfection.

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Humans add the spice of incongruity to the world. We seek to stamp the world with who we are, so incongruities abound. They may be as simple as the fonts on the storefront, as ironic as the pickup and covered wagon, or as unobtrusive as the green plastic chair sitting near the old wooden rocker. We bear another image. Unity (though corrupted) courses in our veins. That is why coffee keeps you awake for whatever marathon you happen to be involved in. Wood and metal can both transport us, and plastic and wood can both offer us a place to sit. 

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