From the hilltop the sun catches the chimneys, the topmost branches, floods blood-rose the overarching, overawing aeriel perspective of flaring cirrhus, jet-trails of angels.
We walk in shadow now.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Up the road or down, sometimes further afield, often not for long, we're out most days.
1 comment:
Oh, I like that image!
Post a Comment