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… as tracing a way over a map, he walks, tracing the grassy tracks, dwelling on the windy crossways, crossing wooden bridges & crumbled ditches, tracing on along the tracks, standing still over the throbbing dewy green turfy triangle between two crossways,...

Although middling & unapparent, undescried & silent, he is there, sometimes wistfully smiling, waking awareness wholly unaware of his presence, though he is aware of everything which is there or not there, everything which should, or could, or might be...

She walks along the shore in the blue grey gloaming towards the roaring sea breaking in frosty foam, haunted by a faraway shore in the grey blue dusk, a drizzling wind in the misty gloaming, standing still in the roaring surf, staring & hearing while...

… The gaze of childhood is a sleeping beauty never to be awakened by any kiss whatsoever—Crevice weeds are more a wilderness to the gaze of imagination than any jungle or barren land to the eye of the traveller—a walk around a field near at home or in...

Il primo giorno di marzo dell’anno 1701, Mark Kenton Sr. nacque nel Regno d’Irlanda. A quell’epoca, la vita era molto dura nella verde isola di Erin, perciò Mark e suo fratello, Thomas, decisero di emigrare nelle colonie. Per pagare il viaggio, che costava...

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