Spring
Dried leaves by the side of the road. Sweeping along with every passing car. Road was lined by trees. Leaves in full green. Leaves with lighter color, holding on. Movement. Sight of darker shadows against brighter asphalt. What are some passages in literature that describes this?
I prompted grok with the above passage. I saw this. I felt something. But I couldn’t bring it to the rational brain from the depths of the body. To words. Maybe if llm could look in the history of literature and describe what I felt.
It deduced that it was autumn (it isn’t) and quoted some passages. I corrected it.
“Your description—dried leaves moving with each car, trees still green, some leaves paling—feels like a snapshot of spring caught off guard, perhaps by drought or an early taste of summer’s intensity.”
Hmm
This passage by Dickinson: “A light exists in Spring/ Not present on the year/ At any other period—/ When March is scarcely here.”
Dickinson lived in Amherst, Massachusetts her whole life. This passage is exactly what I feel every February here in Delhi. February is the highlight of this otherwise too cold, too hot, too wet, too polluted city.
But description of a Light that exists only in Spring is something that strikes resonance. Something spoke but fell on deaf ears. It was not lost on Dickinson. Perhaps if there were no cars, no noise. It might certainly have made an impression. Surely everything must have this other nature. That of other reality. A rich one. Where does it live?