It's cold tonight... I don't feel any pressure but there's an upward motion of air carrying voices of doubt. It's snowing here. But rather than shovel it - tonight we make snow angels. If sorrow were snow then my MOMENTARY LAPSE OF REASON would be colored PINK and covered and beautified by it's blanket. Tonight's dinner is a three course meal prepared by Alexander Faulkner Shand, including: fear, anger, and joy.
I cling to repair.
Are those snowflakes or tears?
Pity taste like April 12th (which is one part sorrow, one part joy).
Bittersweet.
I hope my heart finds it's way home tonight.
I hope.
Love me.
“Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know”
Ralph Waldo Emerson
