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Seizing my life in your hands,
you thrashed it clean on the savage rocks of Eternal Mind.
How its colors bled, until they grew white!
You smile and sit back; I dry in your sun.
Rumi
THE HOUSE IS LIKE A SMALL COMMUNITY. People come, stay for week or a year, friendships form, difficult goodbyes are said. I’m sure the relationships in the house are deeper and more complex than I describe, but I am pretty insulated from the day-to-day affairs of the household and its occupants, and that’s a good thing.
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