Zoom text
|
||
 |
| Vignette |
| Gwyneth Box  |
| There are spies in the woods. In the early morning I have seen fine tripwires strung from tree to tree, caught sight of silent messages heliographed between rain-spattered leaves, heard them signal to each other: bird calls echoing through the mist. |
|
||
|
||
 |
||
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
