The brittle bird girl cannot rest.
Sometimes I find my friend Sarah almost unbelievably stunning. I couldn't possibly share the note she sent me about studying Welsh, but it is truly one of the more stunning things I've read in a while. Why is she so lucid? What did I do to deserve to have her eloquent self in my life? God. Lord Above. Through her come beautiful things to me.
It struck me as odd, really, to see a huge cross set up on that beautiful peninsula. What are you doing there, amongst the surf and the ponies and the grass and the skylark? Welsh poets like to say that the skylark sings prayers in Latin, but honestly it does not require a cross, a constant reminder of who humans are, how humans are. We are to be like Christ to one another - this does not apply to the animals and the volcanic, craggy rocks. I said: "You belong in the city, where people need reminding of who they are, what they are, and how they must act. You don't belong here. God created nothing, God is a creation of man. Set yourself in the city, cross."
Dylan Thomas, incidentally, has been heavy on my head lately. I found out that he is heady and surreal, and like drinking unwatered wine when I'm hungry, he makes me dizzy almost instantly. The Map of Love? Yes, the map of love.
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