tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379098365260485853.post310283831849402136..comments2023-10-20T16:46:35.795+01:00Comments on The Little Wooden Boy: Bus notes 18Mose23http://www.blogger.com/profile/01100756913131511440noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379098365260485853.post-64594051544746294342012-09-11T17:04:09.375+01:002012-09-11T17:04:09.375+01:00Sometimes I preen myself, in my head, on my powers...Sometimes I preen myself, in my head, on my powers of attention - some little scene I caught in the corner of my eye before it gave way to the general drift. <br /><br />No chance of that here. This was a grace coming at its muddiest and most present. Frail and small as she was, she sat up close and hemmed me in. My first reaction was to shrink from her. Nevertheless, the writing became an ineluctable demand. <br /><br />You're right: herself and her sisters and brothers are the bearers of the light.<br />Mose23https://www.blogger.com/profile/01100756913131511440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379098365260485853.post-58287492258424547762012-09-09T11:59:04.055+01:002012-09-09T11:59:04.055+01:00In the Many Mansions of Poetry there must be a neg...In the Many Mansions of Poetry there must be a neglected outbuilding which most passersby have dismissed as abandoned for so long it has now become virtually invisible. This would be the estate of the charitable orders. One must come up very close through the weeds and broken junk to get a glimpse of the small light still glimmering within. It's reassuring (as well as surprising) to catch a reflection of this redemptive light in the window of a West Midlands Bus. TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.com