From where I sit, I always see this gnarled, pointing tree, accusing the sky that one night must have blasted it into its current wizened form.
When it’s foggy, a bird favours it. I wonder if they’re linked, scorched branch and fog-loving bird?
From where I sit, I always see this gnarled, pointing tree, accusing the sky that one night must have blasted it into its current wizened form.
When it’s foggy, a bird favours it. I wonder if they’re linked, scorched branch and fog-loving bird?