Writing is an inky mirror.
Virtually all of writing is an effort to pronounce an elegy on an instant,
The power of letters is that they can loosen the grip of the literal.
No period succeeds in looking past its own sentence.
The calligraphy of cloud’s shadow on an old gray mountain makes us wonder who first wrote and why – whether it was, perhaps, an eagle-eyed woman who, wanting to present a child with a toy, gave instead a legacy only partially understood and explored even into our own days.