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Ranch Twigs

Once, as my thought was being drawn through daylight into the bronze corridors of dusk and thence into the promise of dark, I heard out there the strained voice of the hourglass calling for someone to turn it over and show that the future is just an illusion, that what lay ahead was only the past again and again. I was too young for such an idea, so it came back years later as if to prove its own point.


The Nietzschean Hourglass, or The Future’s Misfortune by Mark Strand, which you’ll find in hisĀ Collected Poems.

The photo was taken at my ranch this January.