As from a voyage, rich with merchandise

Nestled in words, a tiny bicycle waits for you to approach it with a brush and deliver it into its color.

A translation would say:

Trade SK Mark
Established 1884

Bicycle Paint

Manufacturer of English Lacquers and Paints

S. King

12 Ekaterinoslavskaya Ulitsa
Store, 92 Nevsky Prospect
St. Petersburg

Branch in Moscow

The words are a Fabergé grass nestling an Easter egg. They are the velvet lining of a jewelbox. They are a chorion. They hold a realized desire now taking form as a loved body. The swashes and flourishes with which the words shape the air enclosing the incipient bicycle are a pavane danced for the mating season now nearing its end. The pavements of St. Petersburg will soon be littered with proto-bicycle exuviae, molted shells of what will have become frames and fenders. As the consummated form prepares to roll free of S. King’s words and be seen for itself, the memory of S. King wraps it in receiving color.

Source: Green Type blog via,


In the freshman composition class the assigned reading was Loren Eiseley’s “How Flowers Changed the World,” and the education was proceeding at a normal pace. Eiseley’s prose is college-level, and the freshmen were on their way to being college-level readers.

But Eiseley’s vocabulary also refers itself to a college-level science. “How Flowers Changed the World” originates in botany — specifically in the botanical idea that flowers are sex organs. The moment we got to Eiseley’s enunciation of the idea, there was a sudden loud noise. It came apropos, for the climax of Eiseley’s essay is another loud noise.

The noise that woke Eiseley in the middle of the night was the snapping report of a seed pod explosively discharging its seeds. For me and my drowsy students the noise was a scream.

It was coming from a girl in the class, and it had words explosively punctuated. The explosion went:

“Flowers are SEX ORGANS?!” 

“What did you think they are?” I Socratically replied.


And then the girl said, in the intonation pattern known as uptalk, ” . . . For decoration?”

This conversation took place a very long time ago — in the 1980s, I believe. But it has stayed with me as one of the happiest moments of my life as a teacher. In memory of that memory, then, this.