"And I am a writer, writer of fictions / I am the heart that you call home / And I've written pages upon pages / trying to rid you from my bones..." -- "The Engine Driver" by The Decemberists
Thursday, February 28, 2008
It's time.
"You did not hear them coming. You hardly heard them go. The grass bent down, sprang up again. They passed like cloud shadows downhill... The boys of summer, running." (Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine)
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