This is what happens when artist living in two very different areas of the US begin to spill out their art without looking at each others. If you see patterns it is because of your life, not our lives.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
27
Oh, October.
My morning is on fire like the opal and the golden hour of afternoon is loaded, waiting with warm breath for the slightly chilled air.
The burning eight. Prosperity and harvest. Building and destruction. Death and a new year.
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