Well, bugger me if life hasn't painted itself again, courtesy of the iPhone and Photoshop. It hardly bears mentioning that the fecund soil of our rental property has given us a bounty of fruit, life's own gift to itself, so vast the tree must almost orgiastically heave and discard its expired pears into the post-coital winds of early fall as part of its daily ritual now. Yes, there is no need for rumination on the famine and feast of our very souls, in "these conflicted times." Sigh, the artist is not needed here.
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