Arvo’s acidity regarding an unexpected absence exits as an ephemeron so that Sally may ease into eve’s ever sea breeze with dreams entrusted of the self rather than the selfish.

Mister Fox did wrick his neck when he caught, in his periphery, the sight of Sir Richard breaking by placing on the ground his locked box of lox and, upon awareness of howls of hunger developing in the rumbly of the tumbly, coy canid did emit a howl starter to offer a barter to Rick Of Rest for the contents of the curious cube in exchange for two fair pair of dachs-socks—especially made for extra-long feet, but even quite alright for regular-sized feet that desire a scrunchy look that cannot be beat. ; )

If a piquette is a lesser wine and a bridge is a lesser road, then explain how my awe is more profound and my self-clime connections are more secure.

Ah, yes, those highlanders have been heard discussing a mythopoeia about red squirrels having been created by unicorns tapping their uni-horns into puddles that reflect moonbows and, then, having their new minions shoe-shine their hooves with their tail puffs, but if you ask any of the red squirrels about these stories, they will turn-and-tell you, “Scots sure are nuts and that is why I love them!” ; )

That which makes the eyes bloom with curiousity, which is nutrimental for aesthetic awe—snap it like a croc, share it with your flock, cherish its chuffed stock. ; )