[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
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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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