July 19, 2010

etiolate

Everything is sun-bleached, here. Old paint, and foliage. Brick buildings, street signs, stray dogs. The rolling hills, the water, the windmills, the moon.

Especially the moon, straying absentminded from it's hiding place too early in the day. White as a fossil, half-uncovered, in a detritus of faded sky.

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