ORDER IS A FINE ANAMOLY
Somehow it must have rained overnight;
the wagon has diamonds, the shovel has
light. It was all just a touch - one of the
midnight quick-showers that new Spring
whizzes through the dark atmosphere of
night. In the morning you can smell it.
-
Alright for all that; I accept. It's none of
the blasted snow pelting and wind of a mere
two months ago when each morning was
dread or at least a fear for the standings of
'here' - what may have blown over or been
crushed in the night. This is different, and
separate, and more, somehow, right.
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