 | | 03/11/2015 16:57
Sur le blog Amy Nelson
autumn was here.
Autumn was here in the hills and eyes of those who fasten their hair with sunlight. There was no step you could take without leaves crackling under the weight of your feet. I stood by the lake where floating leaves gather as if it was a mirror. I saw my round face and growing hair as if I had been given new eyes. This is me. The only I. That face, although sometimes more moon-like then the desired sharpness of other faces, it is how the world knows when to say my name. I could have been born into anything, maybe a fish who is caught by the hook of fishermen or a bee who lives for only one season before being dead. I could have been born a...
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