I've got some thoughts about this picture but I'm not sure whether I'd better keep them for myself or not. I just feel that my thoughts are more and more often accumulating like trees cut down and left rotting in the undergrowth. I just keep putting off the moment when I'll write them down on, until exhausted I forget about them. A huge mass of rotten ideas lays on the ground, making up a fertile humus that never gives life. The incoming winter frost will keep everything safe under a lying ice sheet.
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