Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Ezra Pound writes,

And the days are not full enough

And the nights are not full enough

And life slips by like a field mouse

Not shaking the grass.

Sometimes this seems furthest from the truth. This is not one of those. I am upto my neck in work. I return exhausted every night. To my little studio with its lamps and rug and food. And rush out in the wee hours of a morning that I never thought would be my fate to see.

Day becomes night and night fades into day. My work is stuck in oblivion.