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Schooling. I learnt to forget. Forgetting becomes a way of thinking. Thoughts and feelings run much deeper. On the surface the undergrowth. Under the growth, decay. Under, so many more layers of life.

Exploring, below the surface of things.
Mulch, mycelium, fungi, bacteria, warmth.

Words, so difficult to find to explain or account for feelings and thoughts. So many more ways of articulating our feelings.

Shadow thought this morning, falling from the street lights, appearing, disappearing as I walk past each light, way beyond the light of day, the radiant light of the sun spilled over the horizon, like magic, beyond my simple comprehension of light. Earlier the stars shone from a clear black-blue sky. I blinked, they twinkled back at me. Magic.

A trace, a trail, each day, to sing the sounds of stepping on stones, crunching leaves, these prints, a foot, a drawing. A pen, a brush. Each sign, a sign of movement.

Books. I have a box, the label says Books. For Charity Shop. October 2018. The intention is to fill the box and empty it. An interim box of things being held onto in a particular way and to be let go of, the decay, the growth, rippling.

The evening thoughts and feelings drifting back towards dreams. Deep underground, seemingly unknown, unknown to words. Known in many other ways. I drink some water.

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