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crows_roostRolled up jeans, cuffed light against dark, and bare feet with dirty toes.
The earth is soft and wet pressed under my soles; pine needles the nearly same shade as the bark of the trees. Its raining just a bit still and my nose is cold.
For just a moment I am five again and the mountains are my home.
I listen to the birds calling.
The earth is soft and wet pressed under my soles; pine needles the nearly same shade as the bark of the trees. Its raining just a bit still and my nose is cold.
For just a moment I am five again and the mountains are my home.
I listen to the birds calling.
