Raw Goods Inventory

Sanctuary

sanctuary I’d say what is golden is green for each season, the various blooms perfuming, sticking heavily to their stalks. No place could be so overbooked with charm the water runs from the mountains straight into a flock of hills clouds overhang all day or the breeze in cool rolls from the ocean summer evaporated into mist as here. Paradise: the trees resistant more than anything, limbs twisted willowy, the bark colorized by the sun’s all-touching watch. The dry-hazed grass vulnerable to spark the whole slope off. What thoughts don’t bend toward disaster will instead the earth to stay in place, as one hopes flames or offense will pass by. A difficulty to dwell in: the valley’s splendor has commissioned rest, canonized hilltop to hilltop, delicate space—a pause. 58 ...