Human beings
may be the only animals
that wonder.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Writing My Mind.com
By Russ Allison Loar
Fever
I was about 12 years old and my fever kept rising.
I suppose it was a bad case of the flu. I can’t remember precisely. It may have been mononucleosis. As my temperature rose unchecked, I slipped into a place between life and death, a hallucinatory place. There before me was an immense stone floating impossibly in the air.

A few years ago I put my vision into a poem.
THERE IS WILDNESS HERE
There is wildness here,
Raw and raging
Beneath this exterior,
Pulsing.
There are visions here
Of soaring over lifetimes of leaf-filled trees
And rust-colored hills,
Over yellow fields,
Over oceans.
There is forgetting here
Of the small things people say,
The small things people do.
There is a last angry echo
Of the unheard voice,
The deeper self,
The truer self,
The wilder self
That wearies of all man-made things.
There is a silence here
That grows and infuses,
Like the melancholy tint
Of an old photograph,
An old photograph you walk around in,
Examining with wonder the frozen, yet flowing
Moments of a life.
There is a wildness here
That rises like an immense stone,
Floating impossibly
In the pure blue sky
Of a secret spring.
~ by Russ Allison Loar
~ Castle in the Pyrenees by René Magritte
© All Rights Reserved
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