Welcome to Zimmer-zine
The e-zine for all those who are not dead yet!
| HOPE IS A SHARPENED AXE |
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Time when hope sharpens weather is ice-cold; buds on the lilac not yet visible, the yellow crocus extinguished by drifting snow and the frail blue scyllas are blanched as they unfold on the patio. Time when hope's blunted summer sunshine burns, old hedgehogs drowse beside the road's grass verge, the wasp has found the fruit and, even as his spark flares upward man, without volition, falters, turns towards the dark. Nothing makes sense. Far off, in the night sky, we measure huge black holes, the ultimate end of fire and frost and of all growing things; even man, himself, annihilated, not knowing why. And yet, he sings. We do not need the astronomer to dredge the knowledge that Eden's garden chills and weathers to a legend, a tale told for none to hear. Yet hope is a sharpened axe; its edge tempered by cold. |
| MABEL FERRETT |
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This page last updated: 29th December 2004.