misswhistle
when i sing she doesn't care; when i whistle she looks at me expectantly
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Sunday, April 28, 2013
Oak Creek, Little Tujunga
Heavenly day splashing about in Oak Creek. We were the only people there, surrounded by shimmering green grass, sycamores, black California oak and purple rosebay willowherb. Pools in the creek reflected blue skies. Dogs blissful. I was in awe.
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