A day like any other. An ordinary day, just like the others. But today is so ordinary, it is unlike the others. Today is the most ordinary day of all.
And isn’t on such a day that you can touch the Day behind the day? Isn’t it on such a day that you feel the un-Day, behind the day, that undoes all days from within?
The end of days, the ruin of days: names for Day that does not happen.
http://spurious.typepad.com/nietzscheandtheburbs/
The suburbs.
How many days have there been? How many days are left?
In truth, there is only one day that we live endlessly. The same day, returning. The same, returning
And the Scots pines whisper, You are blessed. And the silver birches say, The day has come. And the singing birds sing, Hallelujah.
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Hans Howe 