The fog was beginning to burn off and reveal the sun streaked sky. A voice in my head rang like a hymn, saying, why work today? Stop and go. Stop and go. A little closer now. A little closer now.
Who am I if I don't have the energy to be who I want to be.
Ancient moss hangs from Limbs, like an old man's beard, We peer through at birch groves.
The mist was a cloud. We stood at the ocean's shore, waded in the tidepools, as the wind ripped in every direction.
Found myself near Magnolia park today around lunch. A strange name for a park with no magnolia trees. Actually it's in the magnolia neighborhood in Seattle and according to wikipedia both were misnamed by a Navy geographer. Dumbass. Actually the park is full of Madrona trees, which according to local lore are considered good luck [...]