Ghosts

I am obsessed with the plantation of poplar trees across the road from my little cottage in the wild. I am already sad that I won’t be here in autumn. At sunset there is a moment when the light only touches a strip at the top. Nature’s very own Jackson Pollock.

Yesterday I glanced out the window to appreciate this phenomenon to find an escape goat running full tilt down the middle of the road. A dash to freedom, goat hair flying in the wind. Neither sight native but both beautiful and hilarious all the same, respectively

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