On the last Sunday of the Advent season… EVENING The archer with time as his arrow–has he broken his strings that the rainbow is so quiet over the village? Let us stand, then, in the interval of our wounding, till the silence, turn golden and love is a moment eternally overflowing. —R. S. THOMAS
R.S. THOMAS
ILLUSORY ARRIVAL
Who was the janitor with the set face, wardening the approaches? I had prepared my apologies, my excuses for coming by the wrong road. There was no one there, only the way I had come by going on and on. —R.S. Thomas from No Truce with the Furies