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Lisa Falshaw – “Sweeping leaves”
Sweeping leaves If you could rewind, and I’m not saying this would be easy, but if you could, then the leaves, which you, your back a question mark, carefully swept into a bronzed pile, would turn into a golden whirlpool and the dog would bark at them again, chase them in pointless circles, fail to catch them as they slowly wound upwards, unaware…