2007-02-03 - 6:26 p.m. There�s a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes. Heavenly hurt it gives us; We can find no scar, But internal difference Where the meanings are. None may teach it anything, �T is the seal, despair,� An imperial affliction Sent us of the air. When it comes, the landscape listens, Shadows hold their breath; When it goes, �t is like the distance On the look of death. --Emily "Gothgirl" Dickinson thoughts? (7 comments so far) previous - next blog archive contact