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104 At the Foot of the Mountain At the foot of the mountain I have a spacious house standing in eight acres of trees and flowers and ponds. A perfect place in which to retire, to recuperate or to die. A place of sustenance, of energy, of growth. Then, one day, the wind changed. The lowering heavens became white. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the brick walls crumble and fall, the ponds run dry, the trees wither, the lawns turn ashen grey, the soil all desiccated. Beginnings and Ends Hard core living is no more than The body functioning in a continuum Only remembered by the conscious subject The rest is act of faith To make action possible at all How successfully we deceive ourselves Into believing there’s a significant tomorrow ...

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