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February 3rd 2010

 m Candler

    Here on February the third I recall the question why.   It emerges from those quiet places where the beast is inertia.   A long stare across the field with a buzz of sleep in the ears and the Close Mockingbird chasing shadows, and one whole year has gone to stillness.

     In the matter of recording this passage through time, I appreciate the absolute indifference I have demonstrated to that which lies beyond the content of my own mind.   'A bathing in me', I could call it.   A wallow in the mud.   And I have enjoyed it.

    So who have I been speaking to.   That element that exists.   The thing that is 'being'.   It's like patting the head of an Owl, something I have never done and probably never will do because Owls have sharp beaks and talons that kill.

    In the end it becomes wandering.  If not here then elsewhere and I am nervous of losing this friend.

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