Glass Poetry

Good morning!

By the time this publishes, I shall be winging my way to New York for Christmas. Flying has always seemed a little magical to me- I’ve had the mechanics explained to me by a pilot, but I don’t buy it. My best explanation for the phenomena I experience when I get into this huge metal bus and fly though the air is that somehow our wizards have harnessed the power of fire and air (HT Doug Wilson). Anyway, here’s another bit from MacDonald’s book Phantastes, a fairy romance which you all should read. Anodos, the main character, has gone to sleep in the forest. He wakes up in the middle of the night and wanders over to a pond to see the reflection of the moon therein.

Why are all reflections lovelier than what we call the reality?—not so grand or so strong, it may be, but always lovelier? Fair as is the gliding sloop on the shining sea, the wavering, trembling, unresting sail below is fairer still. Yea, the reflecting ocean itself, reflected in the mirror, has a wondrousness about its waters that somewhat vanishes when I turn towards itself. All mirrors are magic mirrors. The commonest room is a room in a poem when I turn to the glass.

I love the way MacDonald sees things.

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