Covet

B is for Blind

33 B is for Blind The fault is in the Quill; I have mended it and still it is very much inclined to make blindes —Letter, John Keats to Fanny Brawne, February, 1820 O imperfect tool of the ball and the socket, screwed into darkness of blind alley, blind corner, over the shoulder of the blind spot winking out in the sun. Is it blind faith in the blind hand of some game of chance or fate, the blind trust in a comrade or thief robbing you blind? Were you blind and now you see? Consider Keats, bloom of blood in his chest widening like a dark pupil, staring into the mind’s blind eye, then dipping the pen that blots each letter’s balloon into blindness: but still the bright star yet undimmed. ...