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.
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I love the phrase "pinking-sheared beauty"!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Thomas! The edges of the chicory petals (which are hard to see in this pic) made me think of that.
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