A crazed, Aryan child is behind me. Tiny, tight hands that can do anything, trying to wrap a string of silver pearl balls around my neck, to make up for the scarf she stole. She has a runtish six-year-old elegance throwing it over her shoulder just so, all crocheted, black & witchy-poo. Spiders and wool webs. I left this string of pearls here 2
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I followed a winding path from tigerose's doorsteps to here.
What a beautiful place to stop and rest and listen and bask.
You have a wonderful gift with words and I am honored to add you as a friend.
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:(
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Why sad??
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