Dawn blushes horizon’s lip as deer, mist-soaked, hooves to coats, browse. Drowsy after night’s day, they, dainty, step through stone testaments of dust. The grass is greenest here, over bones, where ghosts’ collective groans lament our kind’s terminal folly; our greed’s covet .……………………………………………over love. top image link Linda is today’s host of dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. …