The air is cold and still.Even as she watches, thorn bushes and tufts of grass, touched by the first light, emerge out of nothing. It is as if she were present at the first day of creation.My God, she murmurs; she has an urge to sink to her knees... ( J M Coetzee, SUMMERTIME)
Face Book notes by Sri Koyamparambath Satchidanandan.
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