Sunday morning

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The sky wears its silky grey like a pressed Oxford shirt. Trees above the creek, still winter-naked, stand saturated charcoal-black in long streaks by the unrelenting drizzle--always a drizzle, never a downpour. The Escarpment shields this little hollow of Ontario from any real precipitation. Sand arenas below the dingy picture windows are

Comments

[harnessphoto]

Stunning writing as always.

[0033232]

Thanks, Dom. My brain likes to be its most creative when it should be studying bio.