Monday, January 10, 2005
.45 Caliber Grammar
It was spring, the part of spring where the bursting is done, the held-in pressures of dessicated sap-veins and gum-sealed buds are gone, and all the world's in a rush to be beautiful. The air was heavy and sweet; it lay upon the lips until they parted, pressed them until they smiled, entered boldly to beat in the throat like a second heart. It was air with a puzzle to it, for it was still and full of the colors of dreams, all motionless; yet it had a hurry to it. The stillness and the hurry were alive and laced together and how could that be? That was the puzzle.
-Theodore Sturgeon, More Than Human
