Despite the noises of a house being torn down this morning in the hills behind, all calm is possible. I'll lose myself in writing and in books.
I am reminded somehow of the simple omelette eaten by the wistful visitor to Paris in The Ambassadors by Henry James—the possibility of being transported quite elsewhere by a small detail, a quiet line, the sound of water and the frog in Basho's famous haiku.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Bench
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