September 11, 2012 § 3 Comments

Thinking has tangled its unrelenting strands and no amount of teasing and pulling frees the tresses of the mind. All that remains is to immerse the mess in deep warm water drowning thoughts in the seeping heat and the crackle of scented foam. Skilful fingers work from side to side, from root to end, until the strands wave like wide fronds of weed in a current of impending peace. Ophelia is floating now among her herbs and blossoms.


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