outwait outrun outwit


an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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Some weeks are friendly small cats, other weeks snarly mean bitches. This week qualified as the latter, alas. Shaking off my weariness, I walked Sam to the woods, rife with bluebells and white spotted butterflies. We encountered Des and his wee schnauzer Sooty. Sam, dashing around us in excitement, slammed into the instep of my foot, and I've been sore all day. We noted the pink cherry blossoms someone had strewn on the paths, even in the trees, remnants, perhaps, of some Beltaine ritual, divine offerings to the horned god of the wildwood.


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