[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
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
The Naked Fig Tree
The last showers of these days have completely undressed the fig tree in the orchard under my window. Now, there's anything more left to cover its nudity. Could it be a sign that the "never arrived" Winter season is really gone till next year?
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