smelling the cold
a secret-wise in repose
smell of rain
I love the big sky. I love the open road. I love sinking into the smell of rain.
When the rain comes, I am careful not to tread. Trails are a gift, and if we walk on them in the mud we damage the terrain.
The trails widen and erode; leaving our scars behind. Here I remain with faraway eyes and sweet eternity’s scent.
paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower