Snow falling over the meadow of my dreams ( Read more... )

The morning slipped its finger beneath my door one day, painting the grays of twilight as chocolate browns and dandelion yellows. The carpeting, once a lifeless peach of some kind, became a field of periwinkles, dappled with pinks and highlighted by violets. The ceiling fan’s shadow became the slow, sultry spin of an aging windmill, the sails ( Read more... )

Taking walks ( Read more... )