"Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone ..." William Wordsworth

30 January 2021


Thompson, Rising, 2011

It was the hour in which objects lose the consistency of shadow that accompanies them during the night and gradually reacquire colors, but seem to cross meanwhile an uncertain limbo, faintly touched, just breathed on by light; the hour in which one is least certain of the world's existence.

Italo Calvino

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