To sniff honeysuckle in the morning sends me up the stairway to heaven. On the fence, the Mockingbird whistled. Hiding within the bushes, the frail Rabbit, his large brown eyes are the doors to the affairs upstairs, the stars. Or is the female Cardinal singing within the spiraling branches of the tree?
It’s your day, fay jay, hey let’s be gay. May I stay? Who cares, the airs are yours as I fly through the Vapours, digesting the contents of the strange message;
(…hats off to Bob Dylan and his song, Blowin’ in the Wind…)
How many revisions must I walk down searching for the metaphorical crown? How many seas must a smart-ass seagull skim, before basking in the tide’s baneful brim? Yes ‘n’ how many times must a squirrel scream before I FINALLY get what it means? The smell of flowers is drifting in the wind, disrupting the monologue in my mind…