From lit hamlet, backfisch dearly dreamt of ways away

To connect go’s spirit with what travelers did say.

Beyond familiar grounds her angst had grown to discord,

She found sought expectations were not always on board.

So, exceptionals were kept in heart’s revisit niche

While soul solaced at home—contently cast back to fish. ; )

Clothes cleaned adhere

For breeze from pier.

Next task is near

Despite the leer.

Welcome it here

Sans any fear

Thinks thoughts unclear

Before dropped tear.

Then, shifting gear

Before “Yes, dear.”,

Mate rests some cheer

With chilled pop-beer. ; )

As Holly approached the windmill, memories of talking into electric fans as a child—where she would change her voice into streams of bass baragouin—sent her lips into a curl as she found herself fancying the idea of playing same game with the monstrous entity nearing. Though, her daydreaming turned to awe when she realized, in its presence, that heightened stature, power can, too, turn peaced matters rather than just churn pieced chatters. ; )

Where scorching winds clapperclaw path’s work between mercy’s fleeting cries

Does not desert trek’s dessert via hope refracted from stormed skies. ; )

Picking choicest treat is never bleak

With toco toucan’s chirurgic beak

Deftly dicing papayas at peak

For tickling of tastefuls down its cheek. ; )