There is a new visitor to the wilder parts of the garden of late, what I believe to be a Cape Hare (Lepus capensis). It visits in the morningtide and again in the eventide, and is mostly unconcerned with my presence (though it is a wild animal).
Thoughts
Today, I resumed my writing. I began with a stanza from the “Autumn” poem draft that hitherto I have considered complete, but now find incongruous. I am pleased to report that already I have composed, in rough form, several alternatives. This does, of course, further postpone the completion of the poem, but it cannot be helped!
To me, Romanticism was the only movement that truly began to answer the question of what Art is. Every movement before it was mere preamble, and after, stubborn rejection.
Forgotten Fields 