the three women.

An afternoon at Marsh Creek. A breezy, warm day in July, nibbling a hard cheddar cheese and an apple while sitting at the edge of the lake. A quiet day. Contemplation.
Hypnotized by the glass-like reflections of the wind blown water as the three trees, herein known to me as “the three women” dipped their graceful legs into the waters edge while leaves of hair blew in wild unison. Beautiful ladies. Gossiping, waving to small boats, then giggling as they writhed softly in summer’s embrace once again.

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