So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heartin a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no onein the end—not mother and father, not wife or husband, notlover, not child, not friend. We open windows to each but welive alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhapswe could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantlyharrowed heart. When young we think there will come oneperson who will savor and sustain us always; when we areolder we know this is the dream of a child, that all heartsfinally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired bytime and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile andrickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense andhow many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick upyour heart as stout and tight and hard and cold andimpregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in aninstant, felled by a woman’s second glance, a child’s applebreath, the shatter of glass in the road, the wordsI havesomething to tell you, a cat with a broken spine draggingThe American Scholar: Joyas Voladoras - Brian Doyle4 of 512/3/18, 9:52 AM
itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother’s paperyancient hand in the thicket of your hair, the memory of yourfather’s voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchenwhere he is making pancakes for his children.Permission required for reprinting, reproducing, or other uses.Brian Doyle, an essayist and novelist, died on May 27. Toread Epiphanies, his longtime blog for the Scholar, please gohere.()Comments are closed for this post.The American Scholar: Joyas Voladoras - Brian Doyle5 of 512/3/18, 9:52 AM
You've reached the end of your free preview.
Want to read all 5 pages?
Physics, Humpback whale, Brian Doyle, Blue Whale, Fin whale, Minke whale