not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
do the trees have memory can they remember a year can they pass me hand by hand to that place
that place of innocence?
i wrote some time ago: doesn't life sometimes feel like a steady fall from innocence, every beginning so transitory it becomes muddied as we fall from it? i have to remind myself constantly that there is no real such thing as a beginning or an end. so then, what of innocence?