�It�s funny the things that you find in the rain.� And under the layers of dreams I am found by the songs of the birds. They sing in jest. They sing, �We can fly, now why oh why can�t you?� And I click my heels together under my covers� there is no place like. no.place.like. somewhere over the rainbow. I have to hand it to them though, their chirps are far more effective than are their wings for flitting through the folds of the grey of the rainy day I am hell-bent on slumbering through. This morning the fog surrounded me like possibility. And everywhere I reached there was a rushing through my fingers. But� in a good way. . How Rude! - Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2004 - 12:16 PM One small step but no giant leap. - Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 - 11:17 AM Where's George? - Thursday, Sept. 25, 2003 - 12:48 PM |
a Nifty design
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