Then you will sit down in the resting area and you will be moved when reaching the letter o marveling over the words then close the story drawer before your bones crumble
It was one of those days when being a duck would have seemed enough, because then I would have seen where the road was leading.
but the wind was gentle
hardly a wind
maybe a breeze
that tamed the sun
behind my wings
what we do on Sundays belongs to us, only, and what we see through the branches will stay between us
Cold thoughts were arriving
from the shadows
At the beginning was the word and
in the end all that will remain.