Aphorism #12 On beatitude. – With my beaten will being broken, I realize Beauty after miles of radical reflection, which have led to this low valley dotted in purple and white flowers— and the green beginnings— along hills as rolling rises between two steep climbs. And there’s natural rapture in the stream running across the way, silent measure in stones stepped upon while I further into the exhaustion of an inner finitude known now by this late, repeating light— falling onto the impulses of nature— as if veils from eyes. After navigating around the angled vision of a photographer, who seems to be searching pathway toward presence beyond image, I pass over the sand and skeleton of a dried-up creek bed, to find beatitude when climbing this narrow ascension lined by wildflower.
Alex Missall studied creative writing at the University of Cincinnati. His work has appeared in Alexandria Quarterly, Hole In The Head Review, The Basilisk Tree, and Superpresent, as well as other publications. He lives in the rural Midwest, where he enjoys the trails with his Husky, Betts.
Amethyst Review 