All worn and wasted by the storms, All gapped and fractured by the storms, All split and splintered by the storms. HENRY KENDALL.

NOV HOLS FINAL 047

Roads are wet where’er one wendeth,
And with rain the thistle bendeth,
And the brook cries like a child!
Not a rainbow shines to cheer us;
Ah! the sun comes never near us,
And the heavens look dark and wile.

Mary Howitt, The Wet Summer, from the German

FOTO – KALANG 2008

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