Dawn and the child fell down at the foot of the wood.
basil dances with the bird...
In an old grandfather time, a ballad transpired here.
this place is called avalon. really. truly. i spent seven hours reading the secret garden here,
eating wild blackberries, scratching my legs to find them. a river on one side.
a highway on the other.
he was struck by the fidelity of this earth he inhabited and he bore it sudden love.
Wild datura with pale strange trumpets, loosestrife and columbine among the iron inner works of autos scattered in the grass.
rust in the woods.
tailors at sea.
we went sailing in the bay of islands with kris's family. it was lovely. it was more than lovely. it was the sea.