I may be a dog and, as well, your best friend, but do not let it be a surprise that I have lifemanship over you at paw-a-cake even though my pats are smaller than yours.

Did you know I honed my tapping skills by way of phrenotypics while you would lie in that tub of lambent bubbles?

Why did I bite the louche neighbour who thought he could play at my level? A more apt query: How could he believe it would not be noticed that he brought no bacon treats and smelt of catnip?

Now that I have won today’s round, will you please walk us across the bridge to my favourite spot so that we can watch the bolides that your species call fireworks? I love the sparklies, but for the big bangs, your snuggles are all that I have got. ; )

Regarding the orography of the self in a plane of peace, the summit of integrity exists where cogitations rise above abled angles to spaces of fabled angels.

As state supine lines mind towards the divine, simi-dimi becomes every other position of non-fruition.

Scene of a still sea under a me may seem akin to an anchorite’s retreat, but that it may play behind any meditative lids is what truly makes it neat.

Reviews parse thoughts so exhalations may seed them away to forgiving fields; in-breaths are then welcomed for both life growths and life heals. : )

Step towards the light or wait for the rays to arrive where one stands?

Snap-crackle-pop. Response of a broken branch or a reply in argot by megafauna hiding low?

Sinners of chop-chop should from it run—perchance. Singers of hip-hop could to it run—for dance.

Exozodiaca beams might signal the end, but warmthful hues from neighbour sun welcome company to around the bend. ; )

Oneiric wonderings require a view with a view, so a bench by the cliff’s edge will do.

Bight will bend below while pedology analyses shoe angels twisted by each toe.

Incontrovertible is the presence of peace as horizon lines next page for mind’s thinks.

Manners-painting p-graphs suggest when they should be removed, but in this chosen spot stayed seat and hat and soul are behooved. : )

When a yokel became a feudist after a visitor sold them a compact disc of calming classical labelled as lugubrious country, they walked off their anger by traipsing through a field of daisies, where a startled Lepidopteran returned to its favoured floral after the both ephemeral and unintentional flouting of its self-space and, in the aforementioned process, illuminated the by-passer to the realization that when frustration veers us off preferred paths, a beautiful move is that one which returns us to our previous place of peace. Hence, just as a tinkerman adjusts move sets for a better chance at a win, soured souls can tinker mood sets for a better response to a sin—by alighting as a butterfly: opting for upped chins rather than pushed pins. ; )