"For this is the truth about our soul,...our self who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable." Virginia Woolf in Mrs. Dalloway...man, I miss the books that are molding in Costa Rica.
2 comments:
i feel myself inching closer to the woolf.
and taken in by the stone...
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171088
p.s. and what a fab coat it is!
inching, crawling, to the woolf is what we do. it becomes our shape. til, like the stone, possibly later comes not only wrinkles...but poems. lots and lots of poems.
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