Mirror Plane II

Only a thing certain of its own strength can afford to soften.

Here the hard forms have relaxed. Where an angle might once have driven to a sharp corner, it eases now into a slow bend. Where a line might have ended in a point, it comes to rest blunt and unhurried in open ground. Even the dark fields have let their corners round. The forms are no less strong for it. The severity has simply loosened its grip.

The confidence is in the yielding. Brittleness is the fragile condition, never suppleness, and only a form sure of itself can round its own edges without diminishing. What bends here bends from strength, not fatigue.

What remains is a stillness with no hardness left in it, the quiet of a strength finally at ease with itself.