tashi deleg
tashi deleg
Evenings shadows stretched across the field. She was not naked but she felt that way. All the breezes moving through the trees breathed across her shoulders legs and arms.
She wished that she could not remember her name.
While Steven sketched, she could feel him watching even as though his pencils carressed the outlines of her hair, and gentle pastels crumbled against her chin.
A piece of wood can become one of many things.
It cannot become all those things but it may be many things over time.
Paper, made from wood and other fibers, can last a while.
I wonder about the charcoal too. Breath, don't wander.
