For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude

“…floats on high o’er vales and hills…”

Mom Smelling Aunt, 2012

An ice rainbow in the clouds at dusk

To and fro

Contrails at sunset.
Brit standing, on the snow, in front of the sun. Brit smirking

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