The nibbling frosts of late California fall. Sunset alchemy in the skies. Gray and pink marbling sliding across cerulean curtains. Backroads clogged with the ghosts of urgent traffic. A grip of white-tipped bluefeathers flapping North against the breeze. Late. A pause that lasts into your midlife crisis. Frantic activity as a defense against yourself. The time for resting has come early this decade. Again.
3:06 p.m. - 2020-11-11
Recent entries:
Merry Happiness - 2020-12-23
Sorry, Songbird - 2020-12-23
Worldly Dairyfarm - 2020-12-16
The Oxidization of Life - 2020-12-16
Playing with playthings - 2020-12-09
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