Photoshop Tutor and Retoucher
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Monday, March 31, 2008
IRIS
Geese gaggle across a misted moon. A moment later, another wedge flies by,silent as sleep. The black-veined lattice of treetops beg the eyes to look up, but the feet stay wistfully attached to the ground. You wish like a stricken Christian soldierto stay far from the ruins of Rome, to let this moment puddle open, take you in, close.
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