The sun sets on an angel with broken wings.
Remember the forgotten, without them we would not be.
In which I correct a mistake made.
While we can, we remember those moments we cherish the most.
Just as much as we regret those moments we were never allowed to have.
I love boneyards, the older the better. Memorials to people long forgotten, only a name and date, on weathered stone, hardly readable. Rusted doors and verdigrised copper, dusty stained glass. We try to remember them, the people we never knew.
Time wears everything away…
Faces are forgotten…
I spend about a half hour hanging out with these two mallard ducks this morning. We had a good time.
“As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow.”