Love is gone and is here still, more in the heart than can be lived.
For all there is a season and this is mine, evergreen, and woven into wintery cobwebs.
Somehow I resist the temptation to brush them away.
I prefer winter…when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.
Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.
Andrew Wyeth, American Painter (1917 – 2009)
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