Without any leaves, the trees are a wicked mosaic of dark, twisted forms leaning over the Rail Trail. Beneath them, dying plants are balanced on the riverbank, still clinging on to the occassional fence.
Cambridge creaking timbers
Without any leaves, the trees are a wicked mosaic of dark, twisted forms leaning over the Rail Trail. Beneath them, dying plants are balanced on the riverbank, still clinging on to the occassional fence.
More by Andrew Knight
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In Darkening Dolennan
There is still much unexplored on the forest floor,
Unseen beneath the boughs of endless trees
In darkening Dolennan, the hallowed Holtmark
When light is foregone and shadows grow stark
Upon shimmering Dûenedril and shrouded hill -
At the Gates of Angband
Fingolfin hesitated, standing there before the immense doors that rose far above him.
Why? Why am I here? This is madness.
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A local Lúthien
"Andy, can I hug you?"
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