Of us had never been abroad before.”
Nothing echoes backwards through the cosmos
And everything rushes toward that sound.
How would Samuel Beckett have put it?
“I have known such beauty in my small life,
Which I will have to let go with my life,
Which I will never capture as I write,
And yet it shines and breathes in words at night.”
Remember the play for which he wrote that?
Dear old Beckett, always up for a laugh.
How well I recall him echoing past.