Oaks

Oaks are the trees of the dies irae; when the ground shatters they, spread through the land, will watch with old, wooden faces that remain unmoved: too many gales have been frozen in their tough branching crowns; they are no longer disturbed by growth, that age-old turmoil, and their stillness shows not a glimmer of…

Fountains

Before day breaks the fountains begin their daily task: the casting up of thin ethereal table-settings; plait the effeminate shards of the water together to make a wineglass of them, then a crystal wine-carafe, from which they pour unstinting: applause self-generated. They flaunt themselves, hide in the mist; they scold with drunken tinkling and at…