so-so
has the desolate atmosphere i came for. nothing more.
I saw the widower, long and narrow, as though in flight, sit, patiently undoing the petit point on its stretcher, that lovely harmony of a mountain landscape swept away by the man‘s reckless fingers; such was his skill (as though he‘d done little else in life) and zeal in untangling the colored threads that soon that perforated skein displayed its natural tint — of soggy snow.
2 & 1/2 stars
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