Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
sleep in their blue yoke,
the fields having been
picked clean, the sheaves
bound evenly and piled at the roadside
among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:
This is the barrenness
of harvest or pestilence.
And the wife leaning out the window
with her hand extended, as in payment,
and the seeds
distinct, gold, calling
Come here, little one
And the soul creeps out of the tree. – All Hallows by Louise Gluck
HAIR: pr!tty – Brittany
HEAD: CATWA HEAD Magy
SKIN: Essences – Autumn – Powder Pack October 2019
MAKEUP: .ARISE. Running Mascara 2
POSE: made by me.
MINIMAL – Westwing Castle RARE