the boy plays on his own, in water it can’t be helped.
machines work less in cold, sheds and lack of encouragement.
the dream, frost cancelled a while. visitors came, the day proceeded gently with
stops and dictation, who is this?
spring came. each road a picture, slowly staring, visual overload resulting.
i could not breathe
for wondering.
the lime kilns are empty now.
sbm.