Discipline: Literature
Whenever there' s a fine mist shrouding these mountains, their immensity veiled by the fog, I am certain that the patchwork of fields near the river where Daniel makes his way home, will disappear too, and I will be all alone. Then as the picture at my window becomes a familiar Chinese brushwork of paler than gray-blue fonns fading into each other, losing lines and edges, I am very still and will not intrude upon the moment, knowing that I am on a threshold, waiting.
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