there is the apple-tree. full in her burden of apples. there are two spruces, all untamed and aiming at heaven.
there are the little birds singing ultrasound in the apple-tree. and there are trams and too many cars, like a neverending river, roaring beneath and above all that.
i am sad for the apple-tree, for the apples that are so full of lead that they are inedible. must be a horrible feeling, to make something, put so much of one’s self into creating it, and then watch this go rotten and never be used by those the gift was intended to.
pretty much like the gift of freedom for the post-modern world.