Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Thomas Hardy's Darkling Thrush

why is it this poem always makes me think of that one day I was
hunting, or was it just walking, through the graphite mines in
Chester Springs? Was it New Year's Day? Why do I think of that
overcast crisp, grey hopeful unresolved feeling, crunching something
underfoot, not know what this place was about?

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