My Diary: Hanging On A Broken Branch Like A Leaf

I came down from my tree bed,‭ ‬several hundred feet up in a Sequoiadendron,‭ ‬and found June under a duster almost as big as the room itself.‭ ‬I drew a door and went through‭; ‬on the wall was a portrait of Vittoria Colonna,‭ ‬who I pretended to know‭ ‬-‭ ‬I discussed her poetry with the artificial coal fire and then resolved not to bathe for the rest of the year.‭ ‬Outside the distant hills had crept nearer during the night,‭ ‬I calculated they would be touching the unopened window by the end of the month,‭ ‬and the sky seemed to me to be smiling to itself.‭ ‬I foolishly stated that it might end up blinded like Polyphemus even though as a small boy I had been promised in marriage to an elderly sheep.‭ ‬June walked to town using several different routes simultaneously,‭ ‬she arrived at various times.


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