He likes to compare. It is the measure of things. How a woman’s hair compares fragrantly to the lemon tree in an orchard of an Abyssinian city; a place he read about. Or how the color of her eyes compare to the ocean; one he has never visited. Could hers be deep like the cold Artic, pulled by the moon into vast deepness? Perhaps pale like the Pacific, culled by the sun?
No!
He concludes that the physical step a man must take is definitely the measure of things. For example, how many steps to her front door? Is it comparable to traveling an exact distance to witness a miracle— a lost city? An ocean?
How many steps are comparable to an act of contrition— to love?
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
it is the measure of things
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