I had become so quiet and so small in the grass by the pond that I was barely noticeable, hardly there. I sat there watching their living room shining out of the dark beside the pond. It looked like a fairy-tale functioning happily in the post-World War II gothic of America before television crippled the imagination and turned people indoors and away from living out their own fantasies with dignity. Anyway, I just kept getting smaller and smaller beside the pond, more and more unnoticed in the darkening summer grass until I disappeared into the 32 years that have passed since then.
In Richard Brautigan's "So the Wind Won't Blow it All Away," the narrator reflects on a moment of quiet solitude by a pond. He describes feeling diminished and insignificant as he sits in the tall grass, observing a cozy living room illuminated against the night. This scene evokes a sense of a past era, where life seemed like a fairy tale, untouched by modern distractions like television, which he believes has stifled imagination and led people indoors, away from their dreams.
As the narrator continues to shrink in size and presence, he is enveloped by the darkness and the passage of time, signifying a deeper sense of loss and nostalgia. The imagery of becoming nearly invisible beside the pond contrasts with the enchanting glow of the living room, illustrating a longing for a more vibrant existence. His reflections on the 32 years that have gone by underscore a wistful acknowledgment of how life can slip away, leaving behind only memories of what once was.
