‘I watch thee from the quiet shore;
Thy spirit up to mine can reach;
But in dear words of human speech
We two communicate no more.’
And I, ‘Can clouds of nature stain
The starry clearness of the free?
How is it? Canst thou feel for me
Some painless sympathy with pain?’
And lightly does the whisper fall;
‘’Tis hard for thee to fathom this;
I triumph in conclusive bliss,
And that serene result of all.’
So hold I commerce with the dead;
Or so methinks the dead would say;
Or so shall grief with symbols play
And pining life be fancy-fed.
-Tennyson, In Memoriam LXXXV
Another scene from the same unpublished book set in a haunted house. I'm getting more satisfied with my command of the markers. I have a long, long way to go, but working through the new Star Wars and Vader comics along with a decade-over-due re-read of The Dark Night Returns are helping a bit. Posting all this stuff is a bit like being Cosme McMoon in Florence Foster Jenkins: never good enough for the lime light so I grab what I can get.
Anyhow, summer's drawing to a close, so I'll be posting the Seven Heavens of Summer Reading awards soon.
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