TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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On my walk tonight, I listened to the landscape. Fiddles cavorted in someone's backyard, beside a buttercup-yellow field where donkeys browsed and brayed. Nearby the river lapped each stone in its bed, as it has done for centuries. Under swaying horse-chestnut trees, daisies whispered white-petaled lullabies to the sighing night. I smiled, then sneezed: my contribution to this summer night's music.