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"Upon her small white bed
I fell into a dream
You sat up all the night and watched me
To see who in the world I might be"
~ From: Rainy Night House, Joni Mitchell
That lyric is beautiful to me, but it might not be to someone else. It is in that curious, and highly individual capturing of another's more subtle expressions that is especially endearing to me.
It's strange how beauty is like that. Why, it could be even a particular way someone speaks, frowns, smiles, breathes, sneezes or coughs. It could be in a unique manner of speaking or the curve of the jaw, the fold in a brow, dimple in a cheek, or shape of a nose. Sure these are rather material (corporeal) forms of beauty but somehow in my head I am forever linking these to my perceptions of character. I must be rather human in that physical way, so what the heck.
* * *
"Soon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and talked about all kinds of things -- we was always naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us -- the new clothes Buck's folks made for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I didn't go much on clothes, nohow.
Sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark -- which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two -- on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened;
~ From "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn", Mark Twain
* * *
I fell into a dream
You sat up all the night and watched me
To see who in the world I might be"
~ From: Rainy Night House, Joni Mitchell
That lyric is beautiful to me, but it might not be to someone else. It is in that curious, and highly individual capturing of another's more subtle expressions that is especially endearing to me.
It's strange how beauty is like that. Why, it could be even a particular way someone speaks, frowns, smiles, breathes, sneezes or coughs. It could be in a unique manner of speaking or the curve of the jaw, the fold in a brow, dimple in a cheek, or shape of a nose. Sure these are rather material (corporeal) forms of beauty but somehow in my head I am forever linking these to my perceptions of character. I must be rather human in that physical way, so what the heck.
* * *
"Soon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and talked about all kinds of things -- we was always naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us -- the new clothes Buck's folks made for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I didn't go much on clothes, nohow.
Sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark -- which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two -- on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened;
~ From "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn", Mark Twain
* * *
