Plenitude, grace. One can dream, or at least apprehend the inevitable awe. A door opens and you're left standing "in the floor." Is it possible that in the second inaugural address Lincoln changed tenses in error? I love you too!
Family cloth. A pattern is a mode of insistence, beautiful in a way that habits are not. Or not. One begins to sense that oblivion is the wrong word for a good - a truthful - idea. I mean in other words.
Beloved birds? Contrails drift east to west, testimony to mute winds large beyond our ken. Confronted, Frost's cynicism yields to the Emersonian ego. The lilacs show bright green, the goldfinches gather hay in the chicken yard. Your shed is my acceptable nursery.
Oh the misery! Mystery? Spiritual mastery. Well something must come next. And after a while you can see through anything.
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