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Current mood:  artistic
At the end of a street with no houses on the last warm day. In a harvested field in a cold breeze. The sound of farm machines murmur in the distance. Fencelines and wires hum with energy and wind. The insects sing in the fields, the insects are silent after the first freeze.
In each case, arcs of country roads encircle me and spin away into the hills and distance. Drivers and locals wonder who is the stranger in the field.
I'm here, a harvester of the light, to ingather some beauty from the ordinary.
This was October.
A Chronicle Of Lost Sunsets: Two Rituals For Autumn
06:48
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