Friday, August 24, 2012
The Tale of, the: Pecan Watchman of Miraflores
(More truth than fiction…!)
“What have you there?” asked the Pecan Watchman of Miraflores, Lima, Peru: who loved Pecans, Poetry and the Andean Cultures; perhaps that was the best thing about him, other than his craft and trade.
“Yes,” said the poet, “my gold watch, can you fix it?”
“Oh, but it is not so easy to find out if one does not know.”
And thus, the pecan watchman, who had no name, chewing on a pecan—thinking in his brain, took an exacting look through a magnifying glass…
‘Oh,’ thought the poet, ‘what a great factory reflected in there, in which all the people were hiding.’
It was most interesting to think that those entire wheels being pulled down, to and fro, and those at the other end were struggling upwards…around, around, around, like windmills catching in grooves, each helping the other to make its face tick and move, all because of orchards of wheels with: ruts, grooves, all harmonizing.
“Bah!” says the Poet, and away it went into the hands of the Pecan Watchman, nibbling on a pecan—and away he hacked away and pulled at them, while cracking open shelled pecans. And he held the watch as still as any little maiden and put a new spring in it, and pulled out the old: which looked like a labyrinth loosely unwound, open-ended.
“Yes,” said the Pecan Watchman, “one can see easy enough it was the spring,” and now everything was working: no longer like a dead factory, but rather like some great city, as: Paris, Lima—London, or even New York City: ticking away, making the face on the watch smile once again.
#3389 (8-14-2012) Poetic Prose (Written in Lima, Peru)
For: Fernando Nakamoto I.