Monday, May 18, 2009

Cold, cold and more cold. But I'll take cold if it means fresh, which in this instance it does.

"And yet we all yearn for childhood, revel in our own version of it. The dappled clouds, the scent of our father's labor, our mother's decadence, our siblings' discoveries, intellectual, sexual, our childhood in the woods, stretched out in a field of Trout Lily or Box Ferns, our childhood in malls, pining..."
And now back to work.

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