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Post #7: Year of the Typewriter | November 2, 2017

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 The system of seasons;  spring, summer, fall, winter, isn’t nearly detailed enough for this Year of the Typewriter. It’s like language has rungs missing on the ladder.

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The path of time has turned from autumn of coloured leaves, of brisk winds, welcome rain to a more biting time….

 

 

This week rain turned to snow then back to freezing rain.

It’s a blacker season. It’s decay. It’s punk rock fall. Look how this leaf went dark and got a tattoo of a leaf on its bicep.

It took a little more steel to tie my boots on this morning. Even stepping out, I see escape everywhere.

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Here with the licorice ferns climbing the trees to try to get to the light.

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Shutters closing here on the ferns.

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The honey mushroom are slowing. Here, like the ferns, collecting snow.

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Back home from the big green. Big coffee. Big fire.  

 

The Only Animal creates cultivates and inspires theatre work that arises from a deep engagement with place.