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Post by Ivan Carswell on Mar 6, 2008 18:56:51 GMT -5
It clings in his memory like the fine dog hair he finds on clothes unused for years small white strands that are always there – never too obvious, never absent, and he wonders why.
We share a muse, one who cares for artists he concludes, the fount of our daily inspiration – but consider, perhaps it is a dog with fine white hair and not a literary spirit.
Nothing changed with the observation, the hair still evident when he wears his favourite fine wool pullover, the muse still waits at his side and the dog who lies at his feet adores him with those liquid eyes. © I.D. Carswell 2007-02-06
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