Magic
At that moment the
rooster crowed—and did not crow—and it was not a rooster, nor was it, perhaps,
a moment. The wind freshened—and did not freshen—and the sky powdered with
stars had not existed; withdrawn just in the nick of time, like everything
else.
And
at each moment, what was had never been.
*
Then suddenly in
the flawless silence, in broad daylight—across the hush that filled the world—a
tremendous voice gave tongue. But nothing more. Nothing was to be seen, however
much one looked. An auditory illusion I decided.
A
sudden happening, gone in a flash, unforeseen and leaving
no trace behind, does not exist.
Robert MacLean is a bad poet and an independent filmmaker. His The Light Touch is on Amazon Prime, Tubi, Scanbox and YouTube, and his 7-minute comedy is an out-loud laugh. He is also a screamingly funny novelist, a playwright, a blogger, a YouTuber, a reviewer of films, a literary critic, and a stand-up comic poet. Born Toronto, PhD McGill, taught at Canadian universities, too cold, lives Greece, Irish citizen. He is of towering intellect but, as is often the case with such people, not that bright. Here’s more on this splendid fellow.
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