Meander

A wandering run in the countryside under a winter sky my mind wanders and back home cooling down I randomly pass from K-punk's essay on Joy Division to free books on line from a link in the latter to some of Woolf's short stories and this "Yes, yes, I’m coming. Right up to the top of the house. One moment I’ll linger. How the mud goes round in the mind—what a swirl these monsters leave, the waters rocking, the weeds waving and green here, black there, striking to the sand, till by degrees the atoms reassemble, the deposit sifts itself, and again through the eyes one sees clear and still, and there comes to the lips some prayer for the departed, some obsequy for the souls of those one nods to, the people one never meets again."

I'm not that shamed to say that I avoided Woolf's stuff when I was young. I've got to stop the juvenille ramblings...but that paragraph is more than rather good.