As November takes hold, maybe winter begins? The community on the hill and here on the lane are winding down, burrowing in behind closed doors. Close to the window there are white roses . . .
She edges across the Irish sky from the south west. Traveling on the wind, changing moment to moment. From first thing in the morning we . . .
There's a tranquility over the land when the morning is icy. You can hear it before you even leave the hammock. Everything is slower to stir. Except . . .
When the . . .
So the rain . . .