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Silvering, by Britta Benson

I’ve been thinking about driftwood. Also, about aging. About how driftwood becomes more and more bleached by the elements, almost silver. About the flotsam and jetsam of life and that led me to the line ‘flot some and jet some’. The poetic journey began. Here goes: Silvering Ghosts come and go, like people, really. LetContinue reading “Silvering, by Britta Benson”