[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, May 10, 2017
May's bursting
Few minutes between lunch and first afternoon meeting. Enough for a walk along the Mur with a sandwich in the hands.
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