Rain washes the deserted town -
Headlights carve into the forest night.
79: Sun 14/11
The wagtail hops aside
As we collect logs.
The forest breathes.
80: Mon 15/11
On yellow tree hill
Moors tunnelled for gold.
81: Tues 16/11
Giant finger of cloud blots
Far star peak, rocks
Gently change colour.
82: Wed 17/11
Bird flashes before me
On the steps
As if from a catapult.
83: Thurs 18/11
The sky is dark within
the vast moon halo.
An illusion, but still a gift.
84: Fri 19/11
Fallen tree I shave your limbs.
Easel, house, spider?
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