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Banbury Cross

a pillow for lost thoughts...

Post details: Parking Lights

Parking Lights

This planet is like a wall-to-wall art gallery sweeping alongside its mildly elliptical orbit with ravishing abundance of styles, colors, hues, lights, shades, contours, patterns, ornaments, silhouettes, pigmentations, shapes and textures. All you have to do is open your eyes and look around.

Or sideways.

The other day, we went to a concert of a small folkjazz band from Prague, an event sponsored by the cultural section of the Czech Embassy. I secured a place by a large window overlooking an old private park and let my senses delve into the bobbing stream of Moravian harmonies flowing from the stage. During one of the short breaks, my eyesight wandered through the window glass and beyond. It was long after sunset, so instead of the familiar congregation of hoary trees clinging to sloping terraces I could only see a bowl of amorphous darkness. But when I turned my head to the side, I caught an amazing display of lights illuminating a row of trees that were planted on the edge of the park, an arrangement of almost Japanese subtlety - five oblong jewels resting on a pillow of black velvet. Perhaps a small extraterrestrial expedition decided to suspend their miniature airships there while the crew negotiated with the leader of the free world just a few miles down the street.

The condensed simplicity of the formation conjured up an intriguing impression - five visual syllables of a finespun haiku hanging weightlessly in the perfect poetic balance. A demure hint of emperor's majesty. A barely audible whisper of tranquility. An invitation indited in an invisible ink. I couldn't quite put my finger on what made it so fascinating.

But then poetry is not supposed to be understood. You just let it enter your mind and park its fleeting vehicle wherever it pleases.

gl

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