Outside this morning with Blue, starlight fading as morninglight seeps into the sky, I look up to the south. Three still stars stand in a short line. Orion. Not three separate stars, but a single line, sharply defined. Lesser stars around the line construe a constellation that surrounds what becomes a belt. But this morning, standing in the still dark light, bitter coffee steaming in my hand, I’m not in the mood for received myth. Orion, I say. I speak the open and closed letters, strip them of meaning beyond sound and form. I stare at the bright line, a good line, three stars joined by proximity and by rule. Any two points form a straight line. Three adjacent points, if not triangular, these three stars, for instance, are more perfectly straight—even, I think as I eye them, if strict rule would exclude the middle star from the straight line. It is a perfect image of a short line, a short line powerful in its trinity. Before the coffee is gone, before Blue reappears from the oak grove, the starline gives way to the indistinct light of dawn.
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a line in its trinity, i like that. the perfectionism of the line and three is more perfect than two. then – multiplicity is more perfect than singularity/perfectionism defined by dominance of the singular (two endstars),….and adding in the third not entirely fitting star to that perfect line, that’s a more generous & richer way of thinking perfectionism….
hope blue suffering not too much from his mouthoperation.
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thanks for the thoughtful response. i was wondering if i perhaps had wandered off into a dead end. your comment reassures me.
blue’s tongue hangs out, not constrained by that left, lower canine tooth. but he’s not self-conscious in the least and, most importantly, seems as healthy as his advancing age allows.
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