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| | Alder Catkin (Site not responding. Last check: ) |
 | | Whenever the wind drops an alder catkin into my palm, or a cuckoo calls merrily, with trains screaming by, I fall to reflecting, and struggle to grasp life’s meaning, and, as usual, arrive at the place where it slips from my grasp. |
 | | Reducing oneself to a speck of dust in a starry nebula is an old way out, but wiser than trumped-up grandeur, and it’s no degradation to realize one’s own insignificance, for in it we realize sadly the implicit grandeur of life. |
 | | Alder catkin, weightless as down, only blow it away and all changes utterly, and life, it appears, is not such a trifling matter, when nothing about it seems merely a trifle. |
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