"He knew that when he hit this ball, and forever wed his unutterable visions to its perishable flight, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he swung. At his bat's touch it blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete."
Donkeys not permitted without parent or guardian.
ReplyDelete"I love New York on summer afternoons when everyone's away. There's something very sensuous about it - overripe, as if all sorts of funny fly balls were going to fall into the short porch in right field."
ReplyDeleteugh this makes so much sense.
ReplyDeleteF. Scott Manuel is my favorite author.
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