I wonder
In darkened afternoons, humid and hot, when thoughts of things that are not are all too present, all too real, the statues in the yard seem to kneel in front of dreams that will never come true, and mental images that taunted the mind from afar, come near, ever so close, and lay there untouched, waiting for a sign, a signal, to tell them they are born. In those empty lonely hours, after glorious mornings, when a lazy day suddenly erupts in symphonies of thunder and drumming raindrops, when we... Sign in to see full entry.