Wolverton Mountain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . clicky
![[wolverpic3.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkcTA8gkePeLLf3RPng_G__c1xDMEK5BCJ6MFOWI_Z0Qjc3Nfu4pjZapYdn9vAC7x9I9gGgbNWldajT1YJNpFp1-9RWW1Lm9Lx9UwULQdV7aoGRrJIutiY9bk_6VoAudBCxJn/s1600-h/wolverpic3.jpg)
About Me
- puddle
- Water gathering most days I wait through blue and sun till dusk or even later and the rose has faded to lavender, to gray some days, the sleet has started and the leaves underfoot are slick with ice somehow I'm never sorry and never learn one night I waited till the stars were out dropped the bucket into sound, only felt the weight of it filling and the night full of stars and the river full of stars and the bucket full of stars come morning, the coffee is also full of stars
2 comments:
Going to the mountains is going home.....
Indeed! For home is where the heart most indubitably is. . . .
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