Confidence shaking. Indeed it seems May 1952 was a dream. Surreal in the foggy expanse of days.
Stacked up in calendars and thrown away. Good for no more than pennies a ton, but Rockwell’s characters sure did have fun.
Dust covered pages of proverbs and psalms calligraphed upon photos of fantasy suns perfectly rising. What beautiful scenes.
Where were the days to do all those things?
Ansul Adams, in monochrome aspens spoke clear. The days were all numbered that led to here.
The aspens stand starkly unto themselves. Yet, blend in together each one to help the total stand a test of the times.
Ripped off in October, with September’s decline.
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