Friday, October 2, 2009

A Sketch Sentence

Four gleaming discs of gold, the torn image of the sun and the water-slicked hair of 3 tow-headed boys who churned and kicked the cool cupped water of this last late-summer swimming hole--a deep still pool formed by the churning of the water in an elbow of the thin crick that ran through the Southern Ohio hills--the summer stillness shattered by the splashing, screaming, and sheer joy of three good friends with nothing between them but water and bright sunlight dappled with the shade of branches that overstretched the crick.

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