Look, stranger, on this island now,
the leaping light for your delight discovers
stand stable here,
and silent be
that through the channels of the ear
may wander like a river
the swaying sounds of the sea . . .
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden
T.S Eliot.
Other echoes inhabit the garden . . .shall we follow?
My worlds are echoes of what might have been: remaining a perpetual possibility.
About
I write contemporary and historical fiction, live in the country, and enjoy debate, walking, reading, writing, almost all of the ‘ologies’ – and I collect fossils and rocks.
I like silence – and the sea.
Blog
This Island Now
This Island Now is a contemporary novel completed one year ago. It is undergoing revision. At this point in the novel, Christophe a heart surgeon, is visiting his dying father, and his mother, from whom he has been estranged for some time. He and his father are reading together – a copy of Eliot’s Four …
Of the making of many books there is no end . . .
. . .or so the saying goes. There is always another story to tell, another tale to be spun. My tales here are the product of many years without the time or space to tell stories.
On this day . . .
. . . I wondered why I was doing this . . .
Contact
I am Stavia Scott Grayson on AO3 and @artemisastarte on Tumblr.