Swift-flowing.

Finally, a phrase that describes this summer. I watch the flow of light course and change on Sinead's face. Night falls. We have been talking about new ecology, methodologies, the intellectual process.

Working and re-working our writing, until it feels just right. Reads both sound and beautifully.

Again I watch the light flicker and change and remove itself from the real. Become night, night becoming day, sentences becoming paragraphs, paragraphs becoming a dissertation.

Lived thought. Swift-flowing river, regardless of day or night.

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