Sent out weekly on Sundays.

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May I choose the here and now over the then and there

Things out of reach are Things always present For their constant presence Creates the illusion of absence And though seeming close at hand Flee faster than can be pursued And now seeming to reach them Only transmute themselves in The distance ahead, which Ceaselessly grows and extends Until you turn around and see Anew the country you have crossed For where you are is always At the centre of your thoughts And it is their edges that hedge you in

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