No matter how much sunlight and fresh air she lets in, there’s always this dark little pocket of lingering night which she has to uncover.
“So Good Luck came, and on my roof did light, Like noiseless snow; or as the dew of night: Not all at once, but gently, as the trees Are, by the sunbeams, tickled by degrees.”
Robert Herrick | “The Coming of Good Luck”
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