9098. YET LOST, AND SO VAGUE

YET LOST, AND SO VAGUE

There are no purple flowers here,

just me, my ragamuffin friend, and

a sort of icicle which fell down from

the gutter, or something overhead.

-

I have calloused hands. Well, not

really; what's calloused is the area

on my writing-hand fingers where

the pens and pencils rest. Probably

this is forty years of daily use, by 

now. Nothing else to do.

-

Had there been a really fierce storm,

or some rapid thaw, or even a slow

diminishment of the freezing cold,

that fallen icicle would not have

bothered me so. But as it was, the

shape was wrong, and why was it 

there? I had to wonder.

-

Nature does wonderful things. One

of them it does best is streamline

shapes and forms : No right angles,

no sharp edges; everything's usually

rounded, smoothed or bulbous. Or,

in the case of an icicle, even if it's

'pointed' it is also  first both long 

and graceful - and a pleasing 

inducement to the eye.

-

I notice such : This piece of ice 

was wrong. It was more like a

ice-clear block, something harsh

and ragged, like granite fallen 

from a cliff, or chipped away by

fearsome and new power tools.
Yet lost, and so vague.