“It was odd, she thought, how if one was alone, one leant to things, inanimate things; trees, streams, flowers; felt they expressed one; felt they became one; felt they knew one… There rose, and she looked and looked with her needles suspended, there curled up off the floor of the mind, rose from the lake, rose from the lake of one’s being, a mist, a bride to meet her lover.”
— Aug 06, 2025 04:20AM
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