Leaving the party at dusk
Yesterday in Brockville we went quilt hunting. I chose this one. Lovingly hand made in the 1930s.
The clutter of beguile
Found Art (from an old barn)
John's modest greystone house on the edge of town . . . delectable.
On the banks of the mile-wide Saint Lawrence, over a thousand miles before it flows into the Atlantic.
This traditional quilt, pretty old, grows on me every time I look at it. Love the dark side.