Sunday, May 27, 2007


Fallen nest A house sparrow has made a little nest that rests precariously on a lamp post outside your window. The cars under it roar and hiss like the ocean. You are only looking because you know that this nest with its tweeting crew will soon be under them. You wonder what the bird will do then. You picture its little face moving quickly but unconcerned. It is not capable of emotion. But its poor grasp of architectural soundness means that any future progeny are doomed to a similar fate. So you interpret your own way the quick movement of this bird, which, it can be assumed, is doomed to a life of failure. Of course, none of this has happened yet.

A parade is coming.
You don’t walk to the park, you just lay down for a while. At some point in your dream you stop mid-stride while walking across the street. “When will it come?” you wonder. But in the park, by the lake, on a bench, you are sleeping.
It is in the distance.

1973, Pere-Aime Monfereye, "Je suis triste"