Saturday, 24 October 2009

The Racing Wind

Dusk. Black etched trees, silhouettes against a grey striped sky. The racing wind collects leaves from dancing limbs, whistling as it passes. Pushing the fence with insistant nudges, the old wood creaks and moans but holds its ground - the wind moves on.

"No matter how the wind howls, the mountain cannot bow to it" - Anon

1 comment:

Oriana said...

Lovely image, so evocative...I am there with you.

Thank you very much for visiting

Thank you very much for visiting
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