A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then -the glory- so that cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting into his nose, and the dappling light under the tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet his is not diminished.
— Mar 02, 2026 07:40PM
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