Tuesday, August 14, 2007


I was struck by all these daisies at my parents' house last weekend.

Whenever I see a ton of daisies like this I think of a passage from To the Lighthouse:
In spring the garden urns, casually filled with wind-blown plants, were gay as ever. Violets came and daffodils. But the stillness and the brightness of the day were as strange as the chaos and tumult of night, with the trees standing there, and the flowers standing there, looking before them, looking up, yet beholding nothing, eyeless, and so terrible.

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