I hold a stalk in my hand. I am the stalk. My roots go down to the depths of the world, through earth, dry with brick, and damp earth, through veins of lead and silver. I am all fibre. All tremors shake me, and the weight of the earth is pressed to my ribs.
 Woolf, The Waves

I read her before I write, like reciting a prayer. 


Shaylah said…
I've had this on my shelf for so long. I should probably read it!

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