"The days go by, through the brief silence of winter, when the sunshine is so still and pure, like iced wine, and the dead leaves gleam brown, and wate...

That’s the place to get to—nowhere. One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our own nowhere.
That’s the place to get to—nowhere. One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our o...
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