Birdlings Flat.
Tumultuous waves crushing and grinding stones til they are sleek and slick, unwittingly awaiting to be picked out from the horde.
Unique. Different from the rest.
To be held, admired and scrutinized before finally finding solace in the calm collective consciousness of a bowl atop a coffee table.
Resting in the Red Light of a Guitar.
This autumn has been a rare beauty, with stunning weather and never-ending treats for my eyes.
Much love little ones.
x













