life's instability and the child's ignorance of it

[ life's instability and the child's ignorance of it ]

Here is a place where landscape matters. The subject is not what the title indicates. As she leans forward I draw a long breath, hold it: a ritual so immemorial it does not matter. The implicit moralities, for instance. Like sacramental overtones of the nurse with her egg, or the supper quail and hare. A pair of doves vanquished by chastity and an artist persuading us to accept the subtlety of different whites. A cloth, a pitcher, a candle, the milky fog of eye perching rather insecurely. Stability made to greatness therefore to lie.

The central story forming over one landscape out of

many. There is pathos, dark days of February, through which the end of winter exposes mystery. Spiritually intense. This scene is more portentous with a young woman looming up out of the umbra. Affected by dreadful certainty that violation is to be done and the balance of metaphor. To withhold breath the world waits and we do not require a legend to know what happens. So reverently it fascinates still.
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