This is a seperate entry because, well, because it deserves to be. This is something I do from time to time. It clears my head. More on Lithuania later.
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In the forest of Paneriai
I breathe the damp, cold air of the dead.
Trees with black rings of memory
sway in grey sky.
Feet sink into wet forest floor
and I sink into the memory of 100 000 here
and the millions.
Sand and earth are rich with the bones of my ancestors
in the forest of Paneriai.
m
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Summer
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Thanks for that, Mike.
From Blog: Paneriai