At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point.
T.S.Eliot
Thursday, November 17, 2011
The morning wind
The morning wind spreads its fresh smell. We must get up and take that in, that wind that let us live. Breathe before it's gone.
fantastisk bilde
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