Thursday, October 19, 2006
Cool grays—cliffs of the Dolomiti, well above Trieste--a Dubliner in exile. It was the winter of 1969, our impossible road trip, over the Brenner pass, weaving and wandering in wide arcs of cold mountain air. It's the light that stays with you—the essence of a place, just as each white touch becomes the essence of time. Etruscan birch rods, bound around an axe--strength in unity--and the power of the state. But let’s leave out the axe—only the limbs themselves--fast-growing, gray and white, shooting upwards into the sky—redeeming.