The wind that makes music in November corn is in a hurry. The stalks hum, the loose husks whisk skyward in half-playing swirls, and the wind hurries on… A tree tries to argue, bare limbs waving Related Posts:We seldom think of November in terms of beauty or…If you do the bare minimum expect bare minimum…If you do the bare minimum expect bare minimum…My dream date is a tall, dark, handsome, blue eyed…
