There was a tree at the edge of the
world that never seemed to grow and never seemed to die. It just
stretched out into the emptiness beyond, bridging the gap between
here and there, earth and sky. It became something of a rite of
passage, a ritual for anyone who succeeded where all sense said they
shouldn't to visit the tree. With published at long last manuscripts,
with game-winning balls, with lovers well out of their league they
would come and reflect and sometimes have their pictures taken, and
they would shout beyond the cliffs, “You said the world would end
before it happened, but here I stand at the end of the world, a
success.”
- Originally mailed to C. Merritt of Juneau, Alaska
No comments:
Post a Comment