The sounds of man repeatedly falling down can be heard across the land this morning. The giant furnaces with faces are gathering at the edge of town. They demand fresh fuel and more respect. The birds of our county are wearing striped purple socks in honor of their fallen king.
I’d love a glass of Ovaltine hot followed by a four hour walk to get the spider knots out of my back, but I have no milk. Millions of my neighbors, most invisible to all but me and my dog, are arming themselves with the knowledge of ages in order to catch the gray river trout that fill our lakes. Catch one for me, boys!
It is a day like any other and still as unique as a babe’s face. Spend some time today with one of those books that depict various textures and surfaces through pasted on bits of fabric and encourage public caressing. Rejoice in its goodness.
You are an educated man.
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