Moon on a silver spoon (3)
In my sensory education I include my physical awareness of the word. Of a certain word. Of a certain word, that is; the connection it has with what it stands for. Around age six, perhaps, wholesale replica designer handbags, I was standing by myself in our front yard waiting for supper, just at that hour in a late summer day when the sun is already below the horizon and the risen full moon in the visible sky stops being chalky and begins to take on light. There comes the moment, and I saw it then, when the moon goes from flat to round. For the first time it met my eyes as a globe. The word “moon” came into my mouth the moon became a word. It had the roundness of a concord grape that grandpa took off his vine and gave me to suck out of its skin and swallow whole, in Ohio.
Long before I wrote stories, I listened for stories. Listening for them is something more acute than listening to them. I supposed it’s an early form of participation in what goes on. Listening children know stories are there. When their elders sit and begin, wholesale designer handbags, children are just waiting and hoping for one to come out like a mouse from its hole.
When I was six or seven, I was taken out of school and put to bed for several months for an ailment the doctor described as “fast beating heart.” I never dreamed I could learn away from the schoolroom, and that bits of enlightenment far reaching in my life went on as ever in their own good time.
An opulence of storybooks covered my bed. As I read away, I was rapunzel, or the goose girl, or the princess in one of the thousand and one nights who mounted the roof of her palace every night and of her own radiance faithfully lighted the whole city just by reposing there. My mother was very sharing of this feeling of insatiability. Now, I think of her a reading so much of the time while doing something else. In my mind’s eye’s the origin of species is lying on the shelf in the pantry under a light dusting of flour my mother was a bread maker; wholesale coach handbags, she’d pick it up, sit by the kitchen window and find her place, with one eye on the oven.
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