Canterbury tales, Winchester light

Don’t ever make love to any other woman…I’m here. But hey, do you know that I once had my own farm, my stake in the cattle? Didn’t you remember the bells rang during dusk….I was still wondering and wandering with my flute. How do you know?

Your eyes are small…so is the village, but not the green, not the white cover. Or, let the moon be smaller to fools, who cares…an intruder is ready for the light.

Those white horses still running. One still beside the Monastery. But why worry so much…I told you that there are three stages in the life of a man, why don’t you try to believe? I don’t like to drink water from your hand: it makes me bored. You could instead offer apples…but I’ll refuse. Two more sips please…I can synthesize it myself dear, but thanks for those fingers. I eat very little…I wonder why you so surprised…you know it very well I dislike chatting…this device is against all flowers.

When the tension precipitates, remains the ether (oh this gathering!). Is that elevation? Is that a happy and relaxing journey for some people? Well, yes. But most of us don’t know the art of making us lighter. One may think of becoming a feather that travels through the open air as free as possible, yet even for some moments and touch the ground as gently as possible, without a noise… without any sound. Gravitation even works on levity.

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