traveling gnome
Commencing this very instant, more than any other instance, is life getting so good. 13:13 on the clock, this can only be the best of signs. This morning our Chinese-speaking grandma next door shook in her bed, and I rushed over to offer anything I could. Doing something worth someone's while is like saving a little part of your soul that died when you snored with guilt in your sleeping bag. I have something in my hand. It is small and quaint and looks a heck of a lot like arterial lines on a map. In fact, it is a map. Forests of America, watch your backs. I will belt out inside your little crevices of greenleafed lushness. Imagine I appear across the river like a woodland gnome. You call upon me, but I am off grazing knees on stones, voice on domes.