iIn Scotlanda spirit configured intoa ponymay be drinking waterby a streamDroplets of mistcan fool littlechildren to

Torn and brittle, Bruised and used, Mistreated and misunderstood, A rose ever so delicate, Needs patience

In search of strangeness I slow walk uphillpines, birch, maple, ash, August companionsold wooden basket on

The portent of age My name is unimportant. It has scratched the surface of wonder. The

When I told you thatI love the neighbor’s tulips!I didn’t expect to wake upto a flowerbedin

Why is no one here to paint the sky green? The wooden stairs creak like crickets