 | | 11/09/2014 15:51
Sur le blog Amy Nelson
The rabbit, the trees and me.
It was only a week ago, I was running through the forest, climbing grassy patches and kneeling to smell the summertime flowers. There were bright red berries growing on the trees, the garden was alive and the air was warm like a cooing kettle. Travel to a week later and there is snow everywhere, fat clouds of white have blanketed the flowers and killed all the hope that was left for pressing them. I sit here, wearing double knitted socks while my body shivers and shakes. I pour Irish cream into my coffee, hoping the warmth will make me feel alive again. I awoke in the night to the sound of trees crackling and snapping from their trunks. The far-too-early...
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