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The Milk Clock

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The Milk Clock

The hills all around stand in generous folds of white. Clouds hover and boil in the west. Wild and reckless, they spill over into my sky, surrendering their rain or snow in sudden bursts. Sunlight breaks through in pale gold shafts. But it's still a distant, winter sun.

Comments on this post (1)

  • Oct 20, 2016

    Wonderful! Moments of grace!

    — Debbie Young

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