"...to enclose the present moment; to make it stay; to fill it fuller and fuller, with the past, the present and the future, until it shone, whole, bright, deep with understanding."

Virgina Woolf, The Years


All birthed and happy

I walk along these hillsides
in the summer 'neath the sunshine
I'm feathered by the moonlight
falling down on me

Words: A murder of one by Counting Crows

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