Thursday, March 5, 2009

The heat. written at Jayanns July 2008

The heat.
The sound of grass being mowed.
The faint sound of someone playing violin.
The smell ~ fresh~ because it always rained.  Yesterday.
You can hear the river flowing in all it's beauty and power.
Home ~ or is it?
Definitely a place I know ~ knew ~ 
It will be the place I come back to.

Still work in progress~

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