I just couldn’t go away from your website before suggesting that I actually enjoyed the standard information a person would supply your visitors. I will be going back ceaselessly to inspect new posts. Feel free to visit my homepage: Jobs Online From Home.
Wonderful beat! I wish to apprentice while you amend your website, how could I subscribe for a blog? Your account aided me an acceptable deal. I had been a little bit acquainted of this, your broadcast provided bright clear ideas. Here is my website: Green Coffee Diet.
I really love your site. Pleasant colors & theme. Did you create this website yourself? Please reply back as I’m planning to create my own personal site and want to find out where you got this from or what the theme is named. Appreciate it! Feel free to visit my website: Insurance Quotes Auto.
Hi there, I log on to your blog on a regular basis. Your story-telling style is witty, keep it up! Check out mine: Stall Mats for Gym Floor.
There are birds chirping, birds and birds and birds! And green grass and bulbs! Pushing their way up through piles of last years leaves! Is that guy wearing shorts!? This fucking bush has buds! Oh man, I could go for a margarita. That breeze… makes you feel human again.
Everything good about warm weathered days is found in that single, first, southerly breeze. But don’t enjoy it for too long, not yet at least. Not here in the frozen Midwest. That’s why they call it the Spring Shuffle Edition. As quick and potent as it appears, it is gone.
Winter walks with Abratni through Wicker Park and the Greenhouse Gardens. Cold trees and silent street lights, ancient stone facades and the quiet crunch under socked-in snowshoes to the beat of our feet on the sidewalk. Sidewalk.
We sit in corners and read all day. Surrounded by books and nothing to say. Read read, read and keep reading, these books won’t be here one day.
We rattled down the alley bumping off brick walls like pinballs in a humid shade-free aisle. Fences filled with flowering plants where the roots had reclaimed their rightful land. The Great Lakes were trashed. Spewing vulgarities and warping time in a darkness that only lifted for the land. We gazed on and bounced happily hand in hand.
Leaves of lavender! This concrete summer top spin bottle of Sun! Packed with untamed energy and direction, packed with sky high alleyway inventions! Where does this ladder lead to? Where is the sky? “Ready?” Ready. Go!
This was his rooftop. This is where the waves crashed. This is where the palms float. This is where the sky shines. This wood nickel frame about, this comforter of clouds, this place he never knew about, this place he called home.
Down off the floral path, petals on the ground. Off the stargazers tracks, the wind from beyond the lake. Falmouth sat at ease.
“Just keep painting, right?” I asked. There was no response. Sometimes that’s the best response. The wild brook hopscotching across tap handles and uncut grass. “This must be the place,” I thought. This must be the place.
Stomah churns and people see things that I never thought existed. Stories of tall buildings empty windows and drop down menus. Tumbling carved wood and pages into the street sitting on a paperless park bench. Look at all those corners. Look at all those lines. Look at all these people. I think they can read my mind.
There’s this island, right off the coast of Chicago, near the stargazer’s hut. The color of the water changes every day. You can find life and stillness, green eggs and ham, in it’s native prairie land under pink clouds weaving through the late winter grass.