Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Point Atkinson and (distant) Vancouver Island from Marine Drive, 1927

Alas, who is there
we can make use of? Not angels, not men;
and already the knowing brutes are aware
that we don’t feel very securely at home
within our interpreted world. There remains, perhaps,
some tree on a slope, to be looked at day after day,
there remains for us yesterday’s walk and the cupboard-love loyalty
of a habit that liked us and stayed and never gave notice. . . .

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