I was having those last minutes of pre-dawn sleep. There was a telephone and I picked up the receiver and put it to my ear. The voice announced that it was Goethe’s–it said I should not be surprised. The voice told me that the dead make phone calls even if they died before the invention of the telephone.
“Okay Goethe, how do I know its you as opposed to Novalis?”
This is all I remember. The next thing I knew I was geting a face wash from my guide dog.
I wonder if Goethe will call me back?
Awake now and feeling speculative I recall that Goethe was a poet of springtime. One could call him the official German language poet of spring.
So that wasn’t a bad phone call.
But what if it had something to do with selling my soul to the devil?
Well then I can say my dog woke me in the nick of time.
In which case one may say that a guide dog helps its blind companion in more ways than one.
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 