“When the evening is spread out against the sky. . .”

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This is not actually a visitation, but a flax blossom petal adhering to our window. It nevertheless struck me as unearthly delicate and uncommonly beautiful.

The post title is, of course, from T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” one of my favorite poems, despite its having nothing to do with flax.

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