Two friends, 365 days.
and now I know that all apple pies should have quince in them.
the city fills your eyes
almonds and beeswax
solar flares
on-going repairs
heading home
memorial bench
at the midwife's
it's just me and the train
the only tulip in the yard
sunset park, early
dusty shelf of underused creativity.
gloom on the lee shore.
interstate commute
chancellor ave., brick city.
yesterday there was a rose between them
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