One of those Bonnard oranges to end all oranges. The scrumptious quintessence of orange.
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About Me
- Christie
- Creative writer - Traveler - Archaeologist manque - Ardent lover of the play of light, the journeyings of time, things ephemeral and ancient
Popular Posts
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I am drinking lavender white tea, listening to what sounds like a young parrot learning to form words out in the orange t... -
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When the snow-girt earth Cracks to let through a spurt Of sudden green, and from the muddy dirt A sn... -
forget your perfect offering there is a crack in everything that's how the light gets in —Leo... -
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I thought I might like to be a sojourner —a word I’ve come across this morning that is not in my regular vocabulary. I do journ... -
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On my way back from campus, a fine flurry of yellow leaves. Dissettling December . . . image: Christie B. Cochrell, Leaves in Fountain -
Back from a day’s silent retreat at the Green Gulch Zen temple and farm, I’m full of quiet wisdom. I’ve come back not w... -
“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could s...
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