. outside there is moisture in the air and the light has become somehow monochrome, smells of a beginning....there are many birds calling to each other in the trees opposite my home....

. some days I will pick a poetry book from my shelves and share something that I find amongst the pages:

from imagist poetry (penguin books):

What is eternal of you
I saw
in both your eyes.

You were among the apple branches;
the sun shone, and it was November.

Sun and apples and laughter
and love
we gathered, you and I.

And the birds were singing.

- F. S. Flint


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