"These memories of happiness are fleeting things, reflections in a stream, glimpsed all broken for a second and then swept away in the current of grief that is our life now. I can't say that I ever feel what it felt like then, when I was happy. But sometimes something will touch the place where that feeling was, a touch as slight and swift as the brush of a moth's wing in the dark."
From "Year of wonders: a novel of the plague" by Geraldine Brooks
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| Moth's wing © Jennifer Phillips |
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