Walk the rails under a high blue sky. Find the sag in the leaning fence, and step--carefully--over rusted wire. Follow a peninsula of blond grasses through a lake of loam, and come, at last, to the timber's edge where gray branches trace the sky and rose hips curl near purple canes.
In both your poems and your photographs, you show such loving attention to what William Blake once called "the Minute Particulars"! These are beautiful images. Thank you.
In both your poems and your photographs, you show such loving attention to what William Blake once called "the Minute Particulars"! These are beautiful images. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThank you! I'm pleased to have caught a bit of the lovely lines of the seeds.
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