[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
T.S.Eliot
Sunday, December 9, 2012
What remains of the glorious days
Some pics from the open fields, some time before the gloomy days and snowfalls of the winter season.
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