Eternity
I refuse to write anything about what I'm thinking about. I'll write about something else. But it can't be about the Christmas season, because that would be about that subject. And it can't be about the internet, or design, or style sheets, or intimate strangers. Again: that subject.
So let me write about sand. If it wasn't for sand we wouldn't have the beach, and there would be no summers forever. On the other hand, without sand we would have no glass, and every time we looked at something our eyebeams would just stop, and not go through anything. Who wants to live in a world without summer, or without transparent substances? Not me.
I love the simplicity of it, the beach. All those grains of sand laid out there, a broad expanse of a tan silence, reaching out to the rhythmic pulse of the surf. What elegance of design! And that this grit can be so transformed that it becomes the smooth clear sheet, the vase, the mirror, the prism. What manner of world is this?
We can do this too; the flexible, simple elements are here in our hands, and all we have to do is mold them into the shapes we want, with taste, wisdom, and clarity.
There's that subject again.
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