Soon after I finish reading any of those accomplishments, there is no solid memory of them left within, no specific words in strings attached remembered. Still, these written pieces of artefacts don’t leave me be, are gotten under my skin, into my heart.
And I am changed.
Or maybe, I have become.
You sneaky one, you who lure us into your universe, that place we’ve never been before, but all belong to. And once we’ve arrived, you’ve no intention to leave us be, only wanting more.
Who are you? Where did you come from? Where did you find this singular voice, which seamlessly weaves together echoes from the past with the futility of our present? And when did you allow yourself to let go of all fear? How dare you invite us into our world as you see it?
Brave it is, to expose your soul to each and every one of us. We should be so grateful for the opportunity to transcend time and space, and to find truth, with you as their guide.
À propos Autumn and there but for the by Ali Smith
There is life before. And there is life after.
But whatever it was before, a life with no Ali Smith in it is, in some ways, less than lived.
Anita B Krišto© 2018