Antoine De Saint-Exupery
I often make connections. Sometimes, weird connections. However, these mental constructs help me in my writing and in other areas.
For example, there was, in a friend’s backyard, a dead crow. It had been there for some months. My friend didn’t want to touch it. She also felt sorry for it, and wanted to be respectful towards the bird. It was a bit of a conundrum.
It made me wonder. Was there any connection to the dead crow, because I can’t remember seeing a crow perched on those trees, so near to any eagle.
I’m just saying. I have no hard scientific evidence.
More and more stuff doesn’t allow me to relish what I own. That’s the reason I feel sorry for children when they are blitzed with gifts.
You see, if I biked a lot, then every time I used it, I loved and admired it more. The same with the canoe.
Last Fall, I spent some time in Ontario. Most mornings I walked in a new subdivision. Some people left their garage doors open. It was difficult for me to believe that the owners of those houses had any chance of savouring most of what they had in their garages. If it was a quiet morning I might hear the stuff whispering, “Please use me. Please use me.” I almost felt sorry for the stuff. Getting all dusty and more unloved.
E.B. White
I would, for example, savour a Heckle and Jeckle comic book. Heckle and Jeckle are yellow-billed Magpies.
Sometimes, I’d take the comic books into my hiding places. They were usually in a wild place, small, but to my young mind, mysterious, magical and untamed.
They’re gone now. A huge factory cannibalized it all.
BUCKLE UP. Here comes another association.
It’s a weird thought, but I warned you. I make connections.
Thomas Treherne