Just finished re-reading The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis, and I so dearly love the part where “the King’s poet with two fiddlers stepped into the middle of the circle”:
Aravis and Cor prepared themselves to be bored, for the only poetry they knew was the Calormene kind, and you know now what that was like. But at the very first scrape of the fiddles a rocket seemed to go up inside their heads, and the poet sang the great old lay of Fair Olvin.
Mmm, I love that– “a rocket seemed to up inside their heads.”
It made me think, How do I feel when I hear or read an amazing story?
Incredible stories rush my heart like a beautiful phantom. They satisfy this incredible longing for beauty in me– and then stretch that part of my soul, increasing my appetite for enchantment.
How about you?
I love what Emily Dickinson said: “If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that it is poetry. If I feel physically that the top of my head were taken off, I know that it is poetry. These are the only ways i know it. Is there any other way?”
WOW, I LOVE THAT!!!!
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