A French frog's thoughts on the Skagit river. American frogs welcome to read if they can handle my croaking poorly in their language...
Monday, September 14, 2009
A cotton blanket is spread out above, Layers of muslin veils and cotton balls, Incandescent with the last juice of the sun, Cotton embers soon turning purple anthracite, Stretching out endlessly, A foretaste of Eternity.
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