hushabye mountain

This is for the best. The writing can’t always go well together. It doesn’t always blend. Sometimes you capitalize letters sometimes you don’t. Consistency isn’t in the pen. It’s one of my favorite numbers, the number of my birth. I see it for what it is and what it was. A magic bottle of wine you eventually enjoy every drop, especially the last one. No promises were ever made. A fleeting memory of questionable reality. They’ll be gone soon. The village can’t wait for that. As the dust on the baseboards start to become forgotten back drops. Your circus will calm and the forest becomes the normal yet again. I’ll feel the breeze once more before I sail far away to lullaby bay. This was needed and fought for. It made a lovely table runner for Thanksgiving dinner.