Daybreak, and a candle-end

Ephemera

Only I wake up like this

Apropos of nothing, I woke up this morning with a line of William Butler Yeats running through my head:

… Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.

And I haven’t even thought of Yeats in a very long time, possibly a month. For me, that’s infrequent.

In dreams begins responsibility

I send my brain to rummaging around itself, trying to remember what it was I was dreaming about. No luck. Spend the morning carting my copy of the Collected Poems around in my backpack, trying to find a coffee-house with a working WiFi connection.

No luck. I head to the Apple store instead. Hey, it’s Boulder.

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The Author

I read and I write and I think. I survive.

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