Outer Hebrides: Father and Son and … The word content lodges in my brain. Like sticky willies in a deer’s fur. One is missing but always with us. Share this:Share Share on X (Opens in new window) X Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook Share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest Email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email Share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Tumblr Share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window) WhatsApp Share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit Share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Pocket Share on Telegram (Opens in new window) Telegram Like Loading...
Poetry by Nathalie 