Høstmånen igen - en haikusekvens. Ikke magi sten i rummet reflekterer fotonor. Ikke til at børste væk månen der hænger i spindelvævet. Ikke en lyd månelyset trasker gennem stuen. Legebarn høstmånen svømmer i fiskedammen. Jætten der æder af dagene. Fra træ til gestalt høstmånen er en lurifaks. Under mine fødder høstmånen og en vandpyt.

Building a Cairn of Small Stones and other random musings. How hard life must have been. How soft we have become. Towards the end of last year that core of five was whittled down to three due to age and illness of two of our members. On top of that I was away for most .

A Couch in Kali Yuga. The Bell and the Stains. The tree that will become. There was a word for speech? A boy comes alive.