Beautiful, meditative piece. You weaved so many "pasts" among the "presents" here. This story reminded me of wandering a tiny Israeli town in the hills above the Galil. Winding streets, a garbage collector with a burro. The loneliness of being a wanderer in a strange place. Thank you.
Thank you for your comment, Sue. There is something clarifying about being a wanderer in a strange place. Our past may meet our present to lead us on, which, depending on the circumstances, may be our only resource for going on. We are easily confounded, and yet winding streets and a garbage collector with a burro, to borrow your examples, might radiate with an overwhelming presence, even one that might nurture us, albeit for a moment.
Thank you for transporting me to the Aegean for a few moments. I was there once, many years ago, and you gave me a fresh renewal of the sights, smells and sounds that have so sadly become dulled and faded as I wait for my connection flight in Salt Lake City.
Damon, you have such an excellent "skill set" as a writer. I don't know how to say that any less clumsily, but what I mean is, I often find myself reading and thinking "Ah, that was done so well, that line," and then you'll do that again, but in some other entire context and framework. It results, for example, some extraordinary singular lines, "humans have walked with gods before they can name them," but also in more complexly framed observations, such as that nicely layered understanding of how people can sit in a cafe (or elsewhere) pretending, even to themselves, that they are comfortable, and yet somehow still bearing their nervousness and anxiety with them as a sign. It is hard to tell when people are genuine or not in this world (sometimes I think no one is), but lines like that give me hope that it's true, because if we can spot the counterfeit there must be surely a genuine.
I appreciate how you use the word genuine here, as opposed honest. Honest held the stage for a long time in writer speak, but genuine seems a more charitable word. It leaves space for mistakes, for uncertainty. And I don't know if I could stand the burden of those big words, honesty and truth. It's not that I don't believe in them, but I am not smart enough to carry them. After all, a writer can be genuinely good or genuinely bad or genuinely a mixture of both, and I can sort of live with that. Thank you, as ever, Steven, for your reads.
You've outdone yourself here Damon. If you knew me better, you'd know I am not one to fawn or flatter. If I say something, I mean it. Do you know who I thought of while reading this piece, whose voice came to mind? Hemingway. Except that passages here were actually better than Hemingway. Your access to the sensory world, the world of our felt senses, is stronger. Some of the sentences here are stand alone poetry. As what today I will call an ugly American, as a traveler of the internet, photos and sound bytes, I had that sad moment of hesitation, common these days, when exposed to overload and overwhelm. Do I have the time and energy, the patience, to read a "longer" piece? Because it was yours Damon, I read it. And I was duly rewarded and I thank you. Masterful prose, truly. I enjoyed entering this woman's consciousness through your writing. I hope you're considering a novel of some kind. Beautiful work my friend.
Beautiful, meditative piece. You weaved so many "pasts" among the "presents" here. This story reminded me of wandering a tiny Israeli town in the hills above the Galil. Winding streets, a garbage collector with a burro. The loneliness of being a wanderer in a strange place. Thank you.
Thank you for your comment, Sue. There is something clarifying about being a wanderer in a strange place. Our past may meet our present to lead us on, which, depending on the circumstances, may be our only resource for going on. We are easily confounded, and yet winding streets and a garbage collector with a burro, to borrow your examples, might radiate with an overwhelming presence, even one that might nurture us, albeit for a moment.
love being in Eleanor's world!
Thank you, Tabby Ivy.
Thank you for transporting me to the Aegean for a few moments. I was there once, many years ago, and you gave me a fresh renewal of the sights, smells and sounds that have so sadly become dulled and faded as I wait for my connection flight in Salt Lake City.
It IS lovely to read of other places, even when we are traveling to some place else. Thank you, Jeff. Thank you for keeping in touch with my stories.
Damon, you have such an excellent "skill set" as a writer. I don't know how to say that any less clumsily, but what I mean is, I often find myself reading and thinking "Ah, that was done so well, that line," and then you'll do that again, but in some other entire context and framework. It results, for example, some extraordinary singular lines, "humans have walked with gods before they can name them," but also in more complexly framed observations, such as that nicely layered understanding of how people can sit in a cafe (or elsewhere) pretending, even to themselves, that they are comfortable, and yet somehow still bearing their nervousness and anxiety with them as a sign. It is hard to tell when people are genuine or not in this world (sometimes I think no one is), but lines like that give me hope that it's true, because if we can spot the counterfeit there must be surely a genuine.
I appreciate how you use the word genuine here, as opposed honest. Honest held the stage for a long time in writer speak, but genuine seems a more charitable word. It leaves space for mistakes, for uncertainty. And I don't know if I could stand the burden of those big words, honesty and truth. It's not that I don't believe in them, but I am not smart enough to carry them. After all, a writer can be genuinely good or genuinely bad or genuinely a mixture of both, and I can sort of live with that. Thank you, as ever, Steven, for your reads.
You've outdone yourself here Damon. If you knew me better, you'd know I am not one to fawn or flatter. If I say something, I mean it. Do you know who I thought of while reading this piece, whose voice came to mind? Hemingway. Except that passages here were actually better than Hemingway. Your access to the sensory world, the world of our felt senses, is stronger. Some of the sentences here are stand alone poetry. As what today I will call an ugly American, as a traveler of the internet, photos and sound bytes, I had that sad moment of hesitation, common these days, when exposed to overload and overwhelm. Do I have the time and energy, the patience, to read a "longer" piece? Because it was yours Damon, I read it. And I was duly rewarded and I thank you. Masterful prose, truly. I enjoyed entering this woman's consciousness through your writing. I hope you're considering a novel of some kind. Beautiful work my friend.
It is impossible to respond to such generosity with anything beyond a heartfelt "thank you." Thank you.