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Fall Gold

Beech Forest in the fall with its golden leaves.  The dance of light through the half naked trees.  “That time of year thou mayest in me behold;, When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang; Upon those boughs which shake against the cold; Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.”  (William Shakespeare, Sonnet 73)


8 x 10

Oil on Linen


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