[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, November 12, 2013
So, we have ...
... an old car, a duck, a stack of chopped trees, some chairs, pots of flowers everywhere, a wheelbarrow, a palm tree, a wooden ladder and debris all around. Good enough to start writing a story.