Thursday, April 17, 2014



The Hairy Woodpeckers are rat-tat-tatting the poplars. My eyes drink in the steadfast green of the spruce branches, lit as if from within by the morning sun. A small grey moth flickers past my window. Life flutters by--I can never quite catch up with it.

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En plein air - in memoriam Andrew Bellon

A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...

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