cielotree-france blogspot.com

de jour en jour

De jour en jour. From day to day. With love from France. These posts are in reverse chronological order. To read in order, go to Blog Archive on the right, start at the bottom and work your way up. There are daily entries I hope to keep up, but plan to post them only once or twice a week. Im thinking Mondays. I am working on other sections.photo albums and excerpts from things Ive been reading. Tuesday, April 29, 2008. Going With the Flow, Riding the Waves. Quest-ce que tu fait? It is something diff.

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a little something

Saturday, June 16, 2007. A pigeon, one in a flock, by. The bench of the tree green. Down through the leaves -. Before the whoosh and whistle. Of a dozen wings sweeping. The leaves as a little wiry. Haired beast at the end. Of a leash stalks and lunges. Friday, June 15, 2007. Of the rotary - a woman,. Made me shake my head.

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de jour en jour

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De jour en jour. From day to day. With love from France. These posts are in reverse chronological order. To read in order, go to Blog Archive on the right, start at the bottom and work your way up. There are daily entries I hope to keep up, but plan to post them only once or twice a week. Im thinking Mondays. I am working on other sections.photo albums and excerpts from things Ive been reading. Tuesday, April 29, 2008. Going With the Flow, Riding the Waves. Quest-ce que tu fait? It is something diff.

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This web page cielotree-france.blogspot.com states the following, "These posts are in reverse chronological order." We saw that the webpage said " To read in order, go to Blog Archive on the right, start at the bottom and work your way up." It also said " There are daily entries I hope to keep up, but plan to post them only once or twice a week. I am working on other sections. photo albums and excerpts from things Ive been reading. Tuesday, April 29, 2008. Going With the Flow, Riding the Waves. Quest-ce que tu fait? It is something diff."

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In Heaven everything is fine.

Daniel Battilana

No quiero conmoverte sólo que mires lo no dicho. Yo subo por la lluvia. Hasta la semilla del cielo. Lo inútil tiene su chinche. Para salirme de lo fácil. De todo lo que sostiene el agua. Yo me deslizo en los libros de la mentira. Conclusos de desesperación y criterio. Abanico la mañana en lámparas. Termino por alcanzar el otro comienzo. Me superpongo al que murió. Y me engarzo en cosa parecida hueco.