a short walk from the Louvre
K. had said, “Take pictures of anythingand everything.” and I did.
Now while the stern gilt feline frowns back at my puzzling over the ring
I try to open my mind to write to my own thoughts from a photo.
It remains slate grey solidly shut — while ideas about subservience and mastery float around the lion ring thing.
Closer inspection makes me think it is a door knocker. No matter how regal or disgruntled the king of beasts looks, he is still in the service of a ring. Unable to roar, bridled. And I wonder what I’d say if I really could write?
Not these end of the work week musings.