Marbled air fall dawn deer at the garden fence coffeed in the kitchen. What ingredients this morning.
Writing is a little door some fantasies like big pieces of furniture won’t come through Susan S.
Pencil lines curled leaves piled nuts. One reality’s seeds being sorted for their trip through the little door.
Standing again in the hall of doors not running this time.
Irrationality is standing on the other side of the door. Come see step across rationality is relative.
Happening to occupy a minority reality is no more defect than the sky color on a particular evening.
Holding the rationality of that particular reality is no more unnatural than the color in one’s eye.