Up the road or down, sometimes further afield, often not for long, we're out most days.
Thursday, 4 December 2008
Woods behind Arondel, walking Moos with Mol, morning.
Among brown leaf mould, open golden palms of sycamore leaves. Low sun haloes roofs, trees, dogs. The world is beautiful and full of pain. I hate how trite that sounds.
1 comment:
Perhaps, but I'm alive to that contrast every day.
The question I always ask myself is: Should we focus on beauty while we are able to, knowing that pain will find us at some point?
"Open golden palms of sycamore leaves" is a lovely phrase.
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