Seven Summers
The Path I Red bottles delicately pinned to weeping brush trees. The sound of yellow nectar tumbling down mottled branches of majestic Pohutakawas. Searching her outstretched arms… Green flecks of a...
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Reflective glass invites my glance into a writer’s window, where a sunken seat houses the modern typewriter. Book-lined walls, Heavy with knowledge. Climbing ivy, Reaching the height of Jack’s...
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