From The Peninsula

the secret is in the hill, buried with time and white occupation, cleared and manicured, your Red Ceders only a remnant, bound to grace rooms and hold the family silver in your drawers, the ode to the Majesty, stone walls subdivide you, built by Irishmen. You are at my door, i walk your paths, your secrets are never safe…dont whisper them to me.
peninsula_III
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peninsula_ XV
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peninsula_ XII
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peninsula_ XI
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peninsula_ XV
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peninsula_ X
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peninsula_ I
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peninsula_ XII ( cul de sac )
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peninsula_ II
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Using Format