[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
Thursday, March 13, 2014
The River - I
We thought we couldn't waste the first Saturday of sunshine after months of endless rainfalls pushing a trolley and queueing up at the cash of a shopping mall. So we set sails and went out, along the river: not far, nor close, just enough.
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