Friday, August 9, 2013

The language of love

There is a story here.  Write it for yourself; craft it as you like.  This I know: in the time that passed between the taking of these images, a life ended, a final breath was drawn.

Tonight I see with new eyes that in her leaving, she made a path.  One, across the evening sky; another, a come hither welcome, so joyful in its randomness.

How I marvel at it all, how she washes us in color and light.

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