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Zollamt Hohenems, about to cross the "Old Rhine" into Swtitzerland
the river has been canalized, essentially leaving a Swiss island behind
IMG_1233
“Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.” ~Marcus Aurelius
Please forgive my absence but I have some personal issues that require a good bit of my attention and energy in the immediate future. I might pop in long enough to post a picture occasionally but I doubt I'll be around much.
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You're not sure that you love me
But you're not sure enough to let me go
Baby it ain't fair you know
To just keep me hangin' 'round
You say you don't wanna hurt me
Don't wanna to see my tears
So why are you still standing here
Just watching me drown
And it's alright, yeah I'll be fine
Don't worry 'bout this heart of mine
Just take your love and hit the road
There's nothing you can do or say
You're gonna break my heart anyway
So just leave the pieces when you go
Now you can drag out the heartache
Baby you can make it quick
Really get it over with
And just let me move on
Don't concern yourself
With this mess you've left for me
I can clean it up, you see
Just as long as you're gone
And it's alright, yeah I'll be fine
Don't worry 'bout this heart of mine
Just take your love and hit the road
There's nothing you can do or say
You're gonna break my heart anyway
So just leave the pieces when you go
You not making up your mind
Is killing me and wasting time
I need so much more than that
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
And it's alright, yeah I'll be fine
Don't worry 'bout this heart of mine
Just take your love and hit the road
There's nothing you can do or say
You're gonna break my heart anyway
So just leave the pieces when you go
~Leave the Pieces, The Wreckers
66403 leaving Kettering, was sitting in the waiting room warming up when this past through the station.
29-11-10
Yes, I rode my bike home, which was not the best decision ever. And yes, I wore that shirt to the party (post Crit Mass). The Giro rules, even if the leader's shirt is "rosa."
Just an uncommon lull in the traffic
so you hear some guy in an apron, sleeves rolled up,
with his brusque sweep brusque sweep of the sidewalk,
and the slap shut of a too thin rental van,
and I told him no a gust has snatched from a conversation
and brought to you, loud.
It would be so different
if any of these were missing is the feeling
you always have on the first day of autumn,
no, the first day you think of autumn, when somehow
the sun singling out high windows,
a waiter settling a billow of white cloth
with glasses and silver, and the sparrows
shattering to nowhere are the Summer
waving that here is where it turns
and will no longer be walking with you,
traveller, who now leave all of this behind,
carrying only what it has made of you.
Already the crowds seem darker and more hurried
and the slang grows stranger and stranger,
and you do not understand what you love,
yet here, rounding a corner in mild sunset,
is the world again, wide-eyed as a child
holding up a toy even you can fix.
How light your step
down the narrowing avenue to the cross streets,
October, small November, barely legible December.
End of Summer
James Richardson