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.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Stab at Description
The fox was like a feather falling, quiet, fluid, fast.
The fox was like A lady's cloak, elegance not quite past.
The fox was like a dash of sun on red desert rocks
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