Time. It is wrapped in green. The green in the yard and field outside, that lifts the earth above us.
The stories of life are thrown at us as green.
The exceptional man or woman was so green in their doing, that they paraded lofty thoughts, that may have swung them; then edged the glass with enough truth to cover the darkness of night, that so perfectly told the truth, but was reconstructed from the lie that lives there, making it all a convoluted tale of who’s right and who is wrong.
On on the edge of this window, lies like a rainbow, the very lies themselves, like a puddle of soil soaked in a working man’s shirt, but too long in making the plant, leaving all of us to keep it whole.
by Ralph Peck
Photography by Connie Estes
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