Harvest

Still life with persimmons, old book and a rosary. We are trying to outwit the crows, squirrels and other marauders by picking our fruit a bit early and letting it ripen in a secure place. The book is something I've left out in the elements just to see what happens to it--a sacrilege, but it is not a book anyone would ever look at again unless it were turned into an art project. The rosary I found on the beach last week, buried in the sand. 

I am struggling with awful neck pain at the moment, not sure what caused it or what to do to relieve it, but it gets worse as the evening lengthens and all I can think anymore is ow ow ow, stop, stop, stop. Ow. Sorry. It's just hard to find a place that doesn't burn. Good night.