It was a wood sprite dawn. Birdsong was scarce. The sun, tired from moving through the mire between winter and spring wheezed as it climbed. Instead of frost, the trees held a dusting of last nightÛªs malignity. – #CLNolan https://t.co/qfq69xJkAI
It was a wood sprite dawn. Birdsong was scarce. The sun, tired from moving through the mire between winter and spring wheezed as it climbed. Instead of frost, the trees held a dusting of last night’s malignity. – #CLNolan pic.twitter.com/qfq69xJkAI
— Hookland (@HooklandGuide) March 2, 2021