A light rain was falling and the microphones were set up to record the morning chorus of the waking birds. The mist was as a gossamer veil. Sentimentality was welcomed by the quiet meow of PussyCat asking for food. She died later that year. Her voice, like the tears of the early morning rain never fade away. KA
oeuvre@40040generated by litk 0.600 on Tuesday, January 11, 2011. Development: DIM.