Tattered rags of seed heads, fragile, faded pipe stems of weeds, a bit of white feather down hooked on a thorn of wild rose, the scattered remnants of summer’s feast. All return my gaze with equal intensity; we look at one another with the same eye.
Tattered rags of seed heads, fragile, faded pipe stems of weeds, a bit of white feather down hooked on a thorn of wild rose, the scattered remnants of summer’s feast. All return my gaze with equal intensity; we look at one another with the same eye.