. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Monday, February 6, 2012

Le paradis engivré

.
Leonard Cohen's hallelujah plays on the car radio;
lambent lights through the fog announce the scene of an accident.
     This, by the way, was the day the frosted February landscape made
     white on white the most beautiful colour she had ever seen!

This is only she taking part in a movie,
the crisp crescendo on her FM dial cuing her
into a script yet to be written, and besides,
she knows life isn't really like this and
it's too beautiful for someone
to die
today.

5 comments:

stuart said...

I know that day of which you speak...I'm still in awe of it, carrying snapshot images within me (forever, I hope)...such days should be experienced to best appreciate them, but for those who didn't or can't feel such a day, your words so perfectly tie together the image and the mood of that rare day.

Marjolaine Hébert said...

Thank you!

It's interesting to me that there's no mention of the ugly: the accident, the death..

stuart said...

yes...it's interesting to me as well...I'm not sure why I didn't react to "the ugly"...perhaps your words sparked only my own memories of the day as I experienced it...certainly, a selfish and fairly narrow reaction...I've been looking again at what you've written, keeping the accident in context...it's different.
I appreciate the nudge. Thank you.

Marjolaine Hébert said...

..it wasn't only you..i think some editing is in order. regardless, it was indeed a beautiful day to find myself on country roads, ..

stuart said...

if I may say this...it reads very much like the first part (and a very evocative and provocative part) of a deeper story...I've followed your offerings here for quite some time and I've seen such hints before...you have a way of creating compelling, intriguing, and very rich moments, often full of profound implications...as a reader, I so very often wonder what follows the last line in your prose and poetry...it's like a bright light shining through a barely cracked door...I always wonder about the light's source.