Photoshop Tutor and Retoucher
https://photoshopandphotography.com/
Saturday, January 26, 2008
HUSK
So, I am quiet, and the chorus of dead things rasps at my borders; dried husks, withered wheat.This is not night, but a forward hush of senses. Deliver me of this, weighted by objects I accumulate, these skirts which lift so gently, their breath spelled out in dust.