Ever poised on that cusp between past and future, we tie memories to souvenirs like string to trees along life’s path, marking the trail in case we lose ourselves around a bend of tomorrow’s road.
To write is human, to receive a letter: Devine!
Optimism is life with sprinkles on top.
Autumn flings her fiery cloak over the sumac, beech and oak.
Half is better than none unless it be of a wit.
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