Kate Braid | HOW I’LL KNOW

  HOW I'LL KNOW In winter I’ll know by the harsh call of raven and in spring, by blossom. In summer, a warm wind will wash like a bath sweetening and in autumn the squelch of wet garden as it rests. Always, this knowing, body-deep of a particular earth beneath my feet solid…

Want to keep Reading?

Already a subscriber? Sign in below.