[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
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
Late Crop
There's not only pumpkin seeds oil, then, around here. Winter is approaching quickly but still the meadows close to the city are ripe with goods to harvest.
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