An orange dragonfly relentlessly patrols the Egyptian blue, dry fountain well. Perhaps out of habit. Perhaps too, as its insect prey do, both searching a lost oasis.
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There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he looked upon and received with wonder or pity or love or dread, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day....or for many years or stretching cycles of years. [Walt Whitman]
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