Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Sotto Voce II

2.         J. stepped out of the basement and into the scalding Roman son to Lucia’s house.  In the overhanging linden trees, drooping over the disjointed and crumbling sidewalk like a concealing mask of greenery, hide a disfigured face which was the sky; cicadas called out in rising shrills.  A group here,  cluster there, interspersed among the verdant canopy, like guerrillas hidden in some jungle, they seemed to sing: SO SO SO SO, without variation.  Their only melody it was true, but everyday it seemed to J. to covey some new statement of metaphysical truth uttered in a single, long syllable.

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