[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
Sunday, November 25, 2018
Premonition
It's quite a coincidence to spot a Provencal styled window in the middle of a West Steiermark small town the day before taking a flight to Cote d'Azur. Or maybe it's been only my imagination.
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