Still life with fruit
Ode to mid-summer luxuriance
“In summer the song / sings itself”—this line from Williams Carlos Williams’ The Botticellian Trees has been in my head for the last several weeks.
I love the look of August.
After weeks of heatwave, skies appear fatigued. The trees, too, seem saturated. August is a faded month, here in the heartland of summer, a month of mystery doors:
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