Small stone, Vol. 2, #19

Wind in the pines, the earthy scent of someone’s organic wheat bread overlaying the wash of rose petals and loose soil. Children giggling, a Korean woman translating a botanical label for her elderly mother, two French women remarking on the moss climbing the trunks and the sift of light through the branches, a tourist laughing at a Shakespeare quote over a stone bench. The dry brush of paperback pages like the old wood of the bench I share with my wife, her head on my shoulder as we each read our books in the watery light of the afternoon.

No better day than this.

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