a summery evening stitching

the rain drips …

the evening sun glows behind the frangipani …

the girl reads …

the candles whisper of tart green apples …

and the mummy wonders what sits atop a lighthouse (clearly she’s spent her life admiring their tall steep climb into the salt laden skies whilst noticing nothing else), and should her whale have teeth … or, you know, that fibrous stuff …

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