Archive for 07/03/2026

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She placed her tiny white-gloved hand in his outstretched one, and
her fingers curled around his as if they were grasping a lifeline.
“I just want to wish you happiness, Miss … uh … Mrs. Fielding.”
He glanced at Ben on the other side of the pickup. “You too, Ben.
Congratulations.”
With only a grunted acknowledgement Ben opened the truck
door and got in. Will looked into Sarah’s face which was on a level
with his own. The smile had faded and, as he had seen it do once
before, her lower lip began to tremble. With as much grace and dignity
as he could muster, Will Andrews opened the door and handed
Sarah into the vehicle. The look she gave him could only be described
as extremely grateful.
His gesture, Will knew, was not lost on the women who stood in
the street and gaped. O
In the bedroom she had occupied for the last four nights, Sarah
removed her hat and gloves and laid them on the dressing table. As
she did so she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. In spite of
the white dress she didn’t think she looked much like a bride. The
dress had been a concession to Elizabeth who had accompanied
her to London to shop for her trousseau. Sarah had wanted to get a
plain linen suit in a pastel shade for her wedding day but Elizabeth
insisted on something white.
“I don’t know whether you’re a virgin or not,” her friend said,
somewhat bluntly for Elizabeth, “and I don’t really care. But every
bride should at least look virginal.”
Sarah laughed and gave her friend a playful shove, but the reference
to her virginity made her remember Danny, and the memory
brought back the old familiar ache.
She had been teaching at a little country school in White Falls
when Danny was killed, and she had come so close to having a
breakdown that she quit her post in the middle of term. Her mother
had seen it as an opportunity to pressure Sarah into giving up her
career and staying at home. Mrs. Roberts could never understand
why her daughter had left in the first place. When Sarah’s father
died her mother expected the girl to stay at home with her remaining
parent. It took all of Sarah’s willpower to insist on the right to…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

George Seferis – Collected Poems

Posted: 07/03/2026 by vequinox in Literature
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WEDNESDAY
ad vagilias albas
—Why doesn’t it get dark?
—Have a look if you like, the new moon must
have risen somewhere.
—Everyone looks at what you are going to do
and you stare at the crowds looking at you;
the sights inscribe a tight circle
that can’t be broken.
If one is born the circle becomes larger
if one dies the circle will shrink
but this little, for this short period of time.
And the other four senses follow the same
geometry.
If we’d loved the circle would break
we’d close our eyelids for a moment.
But we can’t love.
Your eyes were lovely, but you didn’t know where to look
and when you said we had to go because it was dark
you turned and looked in my eyes and a bat flew off
inscribing triangles…
The gramophone started again.
Now our bats inscribe circles that shrink
as they fly from man to other man
no one escapes
and life is rich since we are so many
and all of us alike
and life is rich since we created fine tuned
devices
when the senses fail.
Brothers, we shared the bread and the pain.
No one is hungry, no one is suffering anymore
and we all have the same height. Look at us!
We look at you. We too! We too! We too!
Farther than this nothing exists.
—But the sea
I don’t know whether they have emptied it.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J

The Incidentals

Posted: 07/03/2026 by vequinox in Literature
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Amorphous Piece of Wood
The left hand holds the small chisel
right-hand raises the hammer
imagination and gusto bestow
transcendence unto the amorphous
slab of oak wood, hard, resisting
free, unwilling to succumb, delicately
refusing to help the woodcarver
to morph amorphous piece of wood,
which desires to retain its
rough natural shape, a face, eyes
envisioned, sweat drips down
the artist’s brow, onto his glance
focusing where others wouldn’t
wood’s final shape already stands
in front of his eyes, like an unwritten
poem yet well discerned in the eyes
of the heart, the final hymnal song
glorious inspiration of the carver
who creates unparalleled wonders

https://draft2digital.com/book/3745812#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763637

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…that grow naturally and would make great ground cover. But Harris
wanted a lawn—and I learned long ago that just because people ask
for your advice doesn’t mean they want your advice!
The first few days nearly killed me, but we’d start the day with a
plan and then work like hell. It got easier and eventually we had breath
left over to chat with. This led to some of the most interesting and
challenging conversations I’d enjoyed in a long time. As we talked,
we moved the mountain of blocks several times, hauled tons of sand,
shoveled and raked and dug and leveled in pursuit of Jeanine’s lawn.
Weeks passed. I sweat torrents, grew nut brown in the summer sun,
and took my belt in notch by notch. I began to feel the magic take over
again.
Ken Harris had been an investment manager, and money—both the
means of making it and the peril of spending it—loomed large in his
conversations. Kirkby, on the other hand, has never believed in money
as anything more important than as a means to an end. He honestly does
not understand the human obsession with profit. Over the years he has
made several fortunes, the majority of which have been fed back into the
community to keep his various projects afloat.
He is happiest bartering his paintings in return for equipment or labour
necessary to complete a job, or occasionally for the few material things
he requires personally. He is a fortunate man in that he has a talent that
produces an attractive and sought after product. In years past, his use of
‘Ken dollars’ (paintings) was legendary.
Art has proven itself an effective means of raising funds for causes
Kirkby deems worthwhile. Donations of paintings as raffle prizes in support
of the BC Steelhead Society, World Fisheries Trust, the Pacific Salmon
Foundation, and a dozen other worthy organizations throughout the nearly
sixty years he has lived in Canada would equate with contributions of
many thousands of dollars. The Isumataq painting and its accompanying
twenty-five foot model have been used to promote everything from fledging
aquariums, to stream restoration, to scholarships and more.
I’m completely engrossed in what I want to do, but truly disinterested
in money unless I can shovel it where it does some actual good.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG