manhunt

prairie grasserik in the woodswoodstree in commonserik blurtree on rockwater black

Afternoon wanderings in the local woods the afternoon they hunted for the marathon bomber. Fresh wooden air, a crisp carpet of leaves and the prettiness of spring air. Bloodshed down the block, but the woods don’t care.

“It’s always fall in the woods,” said my man in the woods, “even in the spring…”

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