For tales of pinched tails due to a cross-the-house mouse chase

That more often than not passed apathetic doorcase

Will henceforth be set in this less-of-a-mess egress—

Where the hunt will circle prey into cat’s hole’s address. ; )

Escaping eeriness of abandoned mansion’s ditch pitch—a state that endured even through daylight hours, Mia’s scotopic senses retreated as she wobblily walked up the street towards trolley’s bench—now misted to a salient saturation of woody petrichor, where she would let morning’s coolness continue to awaken her from perception’s snooze via hues upon dews. ; )

Watch Woody’s beak nail upon tree like a gale upon sea, after which each of wood mist and spoondrift flutter freely. ; )

Horticulturist thought the idea of democracy would benefit his life with electives so plum.

Gardener thought the idea of ergatocracy would supply his life with an exactly equal sum.

Botanist thought the idea of autocracy would provide his life with an approving, ever-upped thumb.

What none of the soil toilers realized was that their governments could only take—and never provide—freedom.

Liberty’s abundance blooms only as a soul lives for that which is right—by its light—just like chrysanthemum. ; )

“On this side of the torii, I am only a slow if steady, slimy story.”

“If I were a kami, though, perhaps, then, they would see use through my blues—and want me.”

“Some sacred orders seem so dauntingly tall that I feel incompetently small.”

“Inherent in being a snail is oft the comparative attribute of fail.”

“But, tiny doubts, truth be told, hold edge in giving way for a grander perspective,”

“So I shall slug on through stalls and walls, honouring my right to wholly, humbly live.” ; )