Thursday, March 17, 2005


I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams,
I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing,
I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud,
Or a robin or a bluebird on the wing,
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way,
That it might as well be spring,
It might as well be, might as well be,
It might as well be spring.

It Might as Well Be Spring

Nina Simone

A straight rip from journalismo.

Do reading and writing have an annual or biological rhythm? Does inspiration rise with the sap and disappear with the Fall ? Or contrariwise?


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