I am April. Not the month, nor the intrepid reporter with a few odd sewer friends.
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I've moved to exclusively shooting film for the last six months or so. Enjoying it. The bank account isn't, so much.
Once, fifty miles down the valley, my father bored a well. The drill came up first with topsoil and then with gravel and then with white sea sand full of shells and even pieces of whalebone. There were twenty feet of sand and then black earth again, and even a piece of redwood, that imperishable wood that does not rot. Before the inland sea the valley must have been a forest. And those things had happened right under our feet. And it seemed to me sometimes at night that I could feel both the sea and the redwood forest before it. From East of Eden by John Steinbeck.
Quite possibly the best book of my life.
- JoinedMarch 2009
- OccupationPark Ranger
- Current cityLivermore
- CountryCalifornia
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the ape. the saur. the heart. it does not get any more human. nor any more real. she loves what she loves. and that is understandable. this stream is like the forests that she tends. growing, with love, with concern, sometimes with a tinge of black dog. who doesn't have a kennel! april is a… Read more
the ape. the saur. the heart. it does not get any more human. nor any more real. she loves what she loves. and that is understandable. this stream is like the forests that she tends. growing, with love, with concern, sometimes with a tinge of black dog. who doesn't have a kennel! april is a human you would want in your platoon. in fact. on point. apes an angel. take it from me. the|G|â„¢
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