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Monologue

A lucky tree.

In a rock.

In deepest darkest Yorkshire.

 

 

'The youths descended in their multiples.

The surroundings were narrated and punctuated by the over inflated utterings and controlled laughter of people watchers.

The man who wandered without plan nor perception collected the light though a witchcraft incantation called... A smart phone.

 

 

My new favourite tree.

It must have been nothing but a strand of green potential the last time these rocks were last visited.

Eleven years ago.

 

 

Digital

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Uploaded on September 9, 2023
Taken on September 9, 2023