That Which Does Not Expire

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I  love words the way photographers love light—secondarily for its effects, where the thing itself is prime. I want to be surrounded. To live a life leaved and wreathed in words. To hem my days in them, embroider each encounter. I want to stare at them all day long. Which makes physics and fighting a real problem.

Facing the matter of matter in this month’s Ruminate post.

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