Day three

Versailles trees, gone, but not forgotten, captured in ’92__in your memory forever.  My Mead Lake tree caught in morning light on a fine fall morning__is gone forever, the victim of nature’s folly, in my memory forever.  Sketches and photos capture history at different times and different places.

And then there is water.  Water connects us, dear brother, you with the rod and quill, me by my birth of the fishes.

“Water, water, everywhere, and yet the boards did shrink.”

I have not captured the moments with pen or ink as you, but rather in memories of sunset evenings at the dock of the bay, lobster and wine at southern bars, beach houses and ocean’s roar, puddles and streams behind our childhood home, canals dug to drain the spring melt.  From foolish pursuits of youth to perhaps foolish pursuit of age, but I think not…

Flowers must wait for another day.


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