Umbrellas Unopent in Tempests, Part IV

Itwethey’s reception of guest’s smile, which welcomes Itwethey’s welcome, fishes up Itwethey’s hope (silver as a herring) for successful welcome and understanding of guest, from the very moment of encounter, from out of Itwethey’s dark watery interior living room (like a pond, a lake, a sea, or an ocean) to glint against the threshold where Itwethey and guest now stand squeezed together. Though adding to the crowd there, Fished up hope relieves the squeeze in both Itwethey and guest, simultaneously.

Itwethey’s interior living space, watery but not fluid, (because it is frozen? Because it is compressed?) circulating and recirculating, (“recirculating” is a more perfect word because it illustrates what it also names) as if it could all be known, charted, explored, navigated, measured, taken into account, registered minutely through GPS and digital photograph from satellite, craves for these rare fish such as Fished up hope, to splash or better—pirouette—(pirouette is the movement of hope)—as something which can cut the law-engendered force of recirculation –just so. Oh! For the just so which is not law-engendered. To see it splash, silver, against the dark depths background of pond, lake, sea or ocean (contained water all. Fluid but not fluid of runneth over.)

Guest’s smile welcoming up hope silver as herring –Itwethey suddenly surprisingly suspects guest’s smile is Fished up hope. Smile is Fished up hope! (They’ve copulated!) Itwethey stammers hope as something from Itwethey’s living room interior, but if Fished up hope also comes from outside, “across the pond,” well, woo-hoo-woo-hoo! This is welcomed by Itwethey as revelation is welcomed, as revelation is welcomed by thin, crimped anchorite anchored twenty fathoms low, in dark ponded impounded lake lacking ocean water but not salt of the earth.

With that happy reassuring thought, Itwethey beckons guest off threshold and on down into dark watery depths of Itwethey. Guest smile no longer silver, as off threshold, guest reflects no sun. Smile gone, too. Day is done, gone the sun, gone the smile, gone the hope? Itwethey recovers from memories seared—guest is yet on the stoop, still a silhouette, still possessed of silvery welcoming smile. Still a silhouette possessed of silvery smile. That was a close one! Theory of welcome almost engulfed all practice of it, which could have extinguished all of it.