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2009-04-16 - 6:47 a.m.

after a run, outside in the morning.

written down, the text presents in translation a chaos of bristling and tragic words. tragic, because i sense all their dense beauty and because i am helpless before them. ~jean giono, the serpent of stars.

there's a skitter and whisper of maple seeds along the sidewalk. a basket of petunias sways by the door of the house across the street. a wren is building its nest there.

* * *


reading: lecture notes.
listening to: wnyc, over the internet.
working on: edging the garden beds.


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