27 March 2012

3/27/12


Every voice I hear has it's own palette of color as I embrace life and resolution babbles from my soul. Running as if I am leaping for the moon, spring is theatrical as it throws back thirty-degree temperatures in absence of yesterday's tease of summer. My teeth, a bit more clenched today, my fingers, a bit more drawn into the sleeves of my shirt, as warm blood surges through my body. The goose bumps on my legs enough of a sacrifice to the gods, so far from my past life that it's hardly even recognizable in the rear view mirror.


Henry David Thoreau

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