Early morning rising, the Autumn leaf coddles the mountainside.
The wild yonder is caught by the fox trotting sun. I am gladdened by the universe. to be a child here, a companion to the stars, booklets, and trees. Lumber catches fire below the brick frame.
The birds are wild, we are yodeling.
I am dressing warm. drips of caramel coffee cause me to gleam. Cinnamon buns are bubbling in the oven, but I've got an ache. This is life. The tongue works separate from the belly. For now, I am made alive by the bouquet of bakery scents.
candles, flowers, spices, spritz of perfume. Nothing can be bottled, as bewitching, or as inviting, as the scents of the working oven. Sometimes, I build castles in the air, mulling over heart-made meals, wishing I could share spoonfuls with the world. If I could send the scents of cinnamon, to all earth's babies, mothers, wombs, patches of pavement, horses, cowboys, I would.
smoke from the chimney mates with the fog. little baby clouds are born. The moon will arrive, and palms will be cuddled by cotton sheets. The fire wood brings death to the frosty air. Wool leg warmers keep me fed.
"She said she knew she was able to fly because when she came down she always had dust on her fingers from touching the light bulbs."
by J.D. Salinger
what i wore*
pink shorts- forever 21 $12