The girl is lost in the tableau of her life. She has forgotten everything that moves. She is a log, a clod, a swale, swatches of color, the sky between branches.
Ain’t it grand?
Beautiful. Serene. You will move when it serves you I suppose. I just downloaded your book but for some reason it did not go to my kindle. So I will read it in the cloud. Much more suiting to the topic anyway.
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