[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.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Asker (NOR), eight years ago. Photo hunting during a lunch break walk on my first trip to Norway. The beginning of what I see now as the happy age of my life.