'Knocking'... the genius that sleeps within the words of the Bard humbles us all. forty years ago I was blessed with a complete folio version of Shakespeare's works published eightyty years ago. It travels with me to most countries, but alas it has stayed in storage in Spain while I am in the Orient. The weight of the tome is substantial though what it contains is incalculable. Not having it near me is as if a limb were torn from me and I lay upon a rock, ravaged, watching the tides of bottomless loss wash through me.

I have always been a fan, as one who struggles to marble my thoughts of the world around me into words, of Sonnet 146...

"Poor soul, centre of my sinful earth...

These rebel powers that thee array

Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth

Painting thy outward walls so costly gay."

Adieu. K