I have in my hands two tufts of braided spikes: lavender, that still has the faint fragrance of a distant day at Sacra di San Michele, and stiff hedgenettle, the witches’ her
I have in my hands two tufts of braided spikes: lavender, that still has the faint fragrance of a distant day at Sacra di San Michele, and stiff hedgenettle, the witches’ her