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March 1st 2009

    "Rabbit, Rabbit." The analogies are endless, the lore confusing, but vague outlines are discernible. So it's good thing that this month begins with cold.  Otherwise the wife and I would be like magpies around the seed packets.

    The winter reaches on from here, until hares and Irish become fools and then you know there is something reckless in the grass.  Perhaps that is the time to plant potato with ceremony and drink and that sort of happy chaos that comes with Spring.

 

    

   
    There are some who will see order in it.  A patient mechanical plodding of one day following the next, which is then decorated sometimes with new green, birdsong, the arrival of insects or snow.  They want the certainty of it.  I want something else.

    What that something else might be, I sometimes think, exists beyond structure.  More like running around in circles than the straight line.  This appears to suggest purposelessness.  Which, I have heard, is only derogatory if you want it to be.

 

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