"Simple, even primitive. Primitive happiness is a very powerful force
because it itself is not divided into ambiguities and pitfalls: it is a
brightly clad army hurrahing, banners waving crimson and gold. Very impressive
to look at, equally easy to spot and kill. Antediluvian. Still there is
something in the color and the intricate stitching of their uniforms. An
immensely romantic naiveté that no longer exists in modern warfare.
Love, in any form, involves necessary deceit."
"It's not true."
"It may very well be invalid."
"So simple happiness is the sirens atop their sinister rocks?"
"and complex happiness?"
"An emerald lost in a green wheat field."
"Even more impossible."
"Autumn turns the fields gold; against this, it will stand out like
a clear green eye. I see the wind pressing itself against the stalks, the
stalks bowing. The field will be a large series of waves, reflecting the
sun, the shadow of the clouds. Each head of grain tilting at a slightly
different angle. Some will be riper than others, some higher, some lower.
So many shades of yellow. A ship passing in the waves of gold-----"
"So it isn't the ring you want."
"Of course I want it--but I'm glad simply to know that it is possible.
It's possibility makes so many other things less painful, more real."
"This will be enough?"
" The idea of contentment--it's like walking toward an oasis. Unbearable
images rise in the brain. But there is direction. There is something other
than sand on the mind. I could die, walking toward it, never reaching it.
But there would be hope--purpose. At night, I would fall asleep, dreaming
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