Archives for December 2016

No sooner had the music flickered out like a windless voice or a smothered candle than the volcano offered a quiet remark.

Banners proclaimed that the secret of middle age was youth and the secret of youth was on the way.

Two squirrels recorded all the movements and sounds. Opening doors to a new home showroom.

In the avenues, there were trees, as their names demanded. The narrow bridges across the flower beds were popular with romantic couples.

The gondolas were stationery on the dry pavements.

Someone wrote amazing poetry in the air with one finger, it was well worth listening to.

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Sideways and centered.

A straight line was all they needed to start building the hotel.

After that it was all curves, soft and velvety textures and bronzed glass. Oh yes, there was some wood, a lot of wood, too.

The beds in the rooms were called Texas King s. It could take a few minutes to walk around the circumference of these massive islands of sleeping comfort. 

A long line of people circled the hotel, all of them having camped outside for 2 days and 3 hours. There was just one single room in the whole building, these hopefuls were all trying to book it for their stay.

“The future is bright” said the sky written sign above.
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Whichever shape or colour, in the end, ignition was perfect.

Twisted carefully to avoid stress, the wires were not crossed.

There were days when the roads were crowded and filled with pushing drivers, yet it was a breeze to travel across the citie’s many neighbourhoods.

The ice that formed on mountainous fences, this was nothing compared to the discussions in the Oasis Cafe. The coffee so strong that the aroma alone could melt hearts and take the lid off an ice cream cone.

An old tradition was a good piece of perennial course correction.

They boil beets, don’t they?

Even though we were nowhere near the water, the waves lifted us and put us down again. We were buoyed by the saltiness.

The visitors were full of honey and pecan nuts, yet they tasted salt.

The cables stretched between upheld hands, people took turns to hold up the infrastructure.

All roads lead to answers.

Sending a letter to an imagined friend.

Could be a ventilationg factor, when I really feel there is something I’d love to tell someone, but who? There is nobody I should talk to about this right now.

Can happen. That friend doesn’t need the extra wrangling thought (and it wouldn’t make them feel better thinking about someone else’s problem), create a person – the listener one needs.

If it happens – I’ll try it. Many do.

Could write the reply also!