Sunday 4th March 2007 5.50am


Sometimes, things are so beautiful, you can't help but take a picture.

I wish this was how today started!

Comments

  1. Anonymous10:50 PM

    Each one of us, then, should speak of his roads, crossroads, his (sic) roadside benches; each one of us should make a surveyor's map of his lost fields and meadows. Thorueau said that he had a map of his fields engraved upon his soul. Bachelard cited in Offord, Mapping the Rainbow Region

    Two highways run through my soul, the new and the old. The existing highway threads relatively strait-thru my everyday life, but narrowly misses my heart. However an oil spill at sea (let alone containers of toxic chemicals) is a direct hit. Along the handful of kilometres from which the details of my map spreads, all is not lost, yet. But in the new age of extinction a death of zillion cuts hurts all the same.

    Scrap of manuscript washed up on a blog near what used to be the future. what used to be satch (today-teardrop) el friende

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