Apples, Bananas — The Writer’s Need for Experience
And now, a question. I throw you an object—roundish, reddish, with a short stem, a firm white flesh, seeds in the center, and you say “fruit” if you’re being generic, or “apple” if you’re being specific. I toss you another piece of fruit, this one yellow, maybe with a few brown spots, with a pulpy
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Shot up in the Wicklow mountains, the wind was whipping around and there was a damp chill that I find particular to Ireland. It was a gloomy day and up there there is an expanse of nothingness, which I love, heather covered hills that are very beautifully desolate. The picture was inspired by this poem: Love's Letters My lady compliments the verse, But love's letters arise like languid leaves upon the breeze, dancing unhurried casualties of autumn's visionary vintage -melting into…