When the fog lifts, the sun makes its nest in the treetops. I sit with a newspaper folded on my knee, listening to a chipmunk’s metronome.
2 Comments
Comments are closed.
Previous Post: Previous Post
Next Post: Next Post
When the fog lifts, the sun makes its nest in the treetops. I sit with a newspaper folded on my knee, listening to a chipmunk’s metronome.
Comments are closed.
Permalink
good morning, Dave. I was right there with you and it was wonderful. Thanks.
Permalink
Hi Peg! I’m about to walk down into the fog, I think.