19 May 2017

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After our chilly wood-near-Athens spring in which the blossoms lingered in a trance of green, and everyone had shocking colds, it was (quite obscenely) 100º today.  The skies have just opened and I went out and danced—rather wimpishly, under the portico, as I think there was hail mixed, and some fine fierce lightning banging away like Jove's stapler.  I refuse to be spatchcocked by the gods.

Nine

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nineweaving

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