Swept Sticklers for the Deck

Time has turned the deck here into something of a chameleon, an exercise in patience, and repetition, this small pile bought down courtesy of this week's wild wind,  was swept into a neat post card of kindle.  Why this should be pleasing? The sense of time played out in twigs, the tonal graduation?  Perhaps its being an artifact of the act of sweeping itself, a meditation on rhythm, the sussuration of straw on wood.

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