I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates.
In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.
There will be time to murder and create.
We had the experience but missed the meaning. And approach to the meaning restores the experience in a different form.
...the still point in a turning world.
Sand. Everywhere. In the bed, in the shower, all over the floor. Grrrrr.