It is a rhythm he has forgotten, without his flatboat to stand on. Remember, forget: words he does not think of or even know, with the silver leaves ahead of him, the red huts behind, the dark blue lynanyn bobbing thick in the water around. There is no horizon—just the line of trees, the river bending in rock, the sand ridge behind the huts, and these views are blurred by dusk or dawn, not seen sharp in sunlight. He senses someone behind him: Maarenn, of course. She might think it strange if he turned and spoke to her, so he looks only ahead and breathes and dips his pole into the river that swells with stars. Nellyn opened his eyes. They focused very slowly on the handprint of moss. The palm sharpened first, then the lengths of the fingers, then the surrounding rock. He breathed himself back, his hands spread on his thighs in the same way that the moss splayed across the cliff side. The moss was green now, springy and soft and dotted with tiny red flowers. The rock was warm wherever the sun touched it.
What do You think about The Silences Of Home (2014)?
