irs, yaretcurning to myself, I found t my ts ems in particular ed out of tritus t is my memory and placed for my attention.

    t tle scene involving my fate library clearance includes a number of Vida inters. At t deal in contemporary fiction. “I’ll take to ty s before t, to a priest, one to a cartograpo a military orian. Our clients’ faces, omary outo lig ter luncaloging and tomers,  reading as usual. It is late autumn, it is raining and ted up. In ter; oget, we are deep in our books. “Sea?” I ask, surfacing. No answer.

    I make tea all t a cup next to er toucea is cold. I make a fres and put moteaming cup beside o my ;very movement.

    Gently I tilt t I can see t is ter. I return to its original position and study my fat  see me. .

    t  memory.

    ter profile, carved massively out of ligoers unted, beneat is only an advertising pograped on a bill-board in a railation, but to my mind’s eye it ten queens and deities carved into rock faces by ancient civilizations. to contemplate te arc of tions of to marvel t tion can produce someturally perfect as ts of ture, ifact, a product not of blunt-tooled nature but of tistic endeavor. t embellisy of alabaster; it appears paler still by contrast e ts and coils of copper  are arranged  temples and dorong, elegant neck.

    As if travagant beauty  enougensified by some pograp of o an ins, t over ters  in-expression. I can’t say  day felt t ture; t perspective on t for me, looking into t  commonplace expression a