The Tides of The sea rise and fall, with great energy and
exuberance. At certain Times, They rise higher Than others. The
moon is The chief engine behind This, I am Told, but it moves Them
with a singularly predictable, faithful regularity. The flood of
war similarly flows and ebbs, but with a wild, ungovernable
capriciousness That cannot be anticipated with any degree of
confidence. It is more like a storm, a Tempest, often unforeseen
and almost never adequately prepared for. It can ebb with a
breathless suddenness That leaves one wondering what all The fuss
was about, or it can rise against The highest, most invulnerable
peak in a mad rush of relentless violence. Also unlike The
dependable Tides, war need not necessarily ebb. Like nothing in
nature, it appears, war seems able To flow and flow, and build
endlessly upon itself like an ever-mounting gale, flailing
vengefully about, long after its contingent parts have been
exhausted. When all is said and done, one must contemplate the
possibility that such dubious intangibles as “luck” might actually
exist, because They, and God, remain The only Things worthy of
faith.
—Courtney Bradford,
The Worlds I’ve Wondered
University of New Glasgow Press
1956
University of New Glasgow Press
1956