Socrates the imminent headache, stands with starchy reserve watching the Charles River pass thru countryside, townships, and cities, to reach the Atlantic Ocean. Tribes have gathered, full rendezvous, and all questions become more questions. Trees remain the onus of trees, rocks of rocks. Socrates perforce with pictures of words in mind’s eye sighs to express. He coulld never misspell a word, but never tried. The countryside only passes on as Socrates entirely stands. Another class of citizens will bring the required supplies.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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