No secret to red apple, delight is light in the beam. A word will last, word will be a hand. At a pace of colour, thru the seas of sky, remember and remember. This is a day of fresh and autumn, telling colours in the world. All we can have is hands together, hands in the hands of the world.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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