[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.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Lido dei Maronti, Ischia. The southern side of the island observed from the hill on a quiet morning. Two taxi boats cross their trails on the plain water surface.