It was interesting. It might be useful. Her mood was coming back to her. One must keep on looking without for a second relaxing the intensity of emotion, the determination not to be put off, not to be bamboozled. One must hold the scene — so — in a vise and let nothing come in and spoil it. One wanted, she thought, dipping her brush deliberately, to be on a level with ordinary experience, to feel simply that’s a chair, that’s a table, and yet at the same time, It’s a miracle, it’s an ecstasy. (To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf)
Al fons de la vall
tres dotzenes de vaques
de tots els colors del bru.
Música d'esquelles
elevant-se
com remor d'onades entre els còdols,
com riure de nens.
Som un grup de gent
i anem cap a l'ermita.
Pugen les boires,
la terra respira.
Olor d'humitat,
fulles grogues,
molses resplendents.
Jo en canvi avui
passejo per la vora del mar
de les Hèbrides
i anem decidits,
ara que encara hi som a temps
i fa bo,
cap al far.
