[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.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Sunday afternoon, sitting on my couch with the camera in my hands (can't actually explain how and why). Few more minutes before hords of kids invade my after lunch quietness. It's the celebration season of my family. I will survive.