June 3rd 2008 / If one takes an umbrella and trudges through the grounds on a tour of inspection despite wet and mist, one can no longer see one's own house after only a hundred paces, just brambles in mist, rivulets, bracken in mist. A little wall in the lower garden (drystone) has collapsed: debris among the lettuces, lumps of clay under the tomatoes. Perhaps that happened days ago. // taken from DC's: Spotlight on ... Max Frisch 'Man in the Holocene'
/ it was one of the phrases
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