Promise me, that when the leaves turn in the wind or in the falling, you’ll remember. And smile at the day we spent under the green ocean dome that welled above us, all ebb and flurry, each leaf-shake a flutter held, a quark of forest time shifting and regrouping, but yet the whole — the copse within the wood that was the whole of it to us — set slow. Slower, the further out we looked, until our eyes could see no further than an army-band of trunks upholding calm. The wood protects us. I could not bear for you to see…Continue reading
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