In the calm of early morning, along the path of my walk, is a hem of trees and undergrowth; solid green stillness lying in ambush.
Not a leaf fluttered in defiance of this discipline, not a branch swayed inadvertently.
The wind appeared to have been quarantined elsewhere, so the eye could absorb the offering un-distracted by movement.
Or was I sleepwalking through a giant painting?
Not a leaf fluttered in defiance of this discipline, not a branch swayed inadvertently.
The wind appeared to have been quarantined elsewhere, so the eye could absorb the offering un-distracted by movement.
Or was I sleepwalking through a giant painting?
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