FAS

Some questions cannot be answered. They become familiar weights in the hand, round stones pulled from the pocket, unyielding and cool. Your fingers travel their surfaces, lose themselves finally in the braille of the durable world. Look out of any window, it's the same -- the yellow leaves, the wintering light. A truck passes, piled deep in cut wood. A woman, in a red wool coat, sees you watching and quickly looks away.
Jane Hirshfield Woman In Red Coat

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