The only thing you know for sure is the present tense. That nowness becomes so vivid to me now, that in a perverse sort of way, I’m almost serene, I can celebrate life. Below my window, for example, the blossom is out in full. It’s a plum tree. It looks like apple blossom, but it’s white. And instead of saying, “Oh, that’s a nice blossom,” looking at it through the window when I’m writing, it is the whitest, frothiest, blossomiest blossom that there ever could be. Things are both more trivial than they ever were, and more important than they ever were, and the difference between the trivial
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