If a horse experiencing thirst had once, by a holophotal lighthouse’s guidance, been led to a saline sea, then, of course, that horse, presently leading a band, would be prone to advising its mates to abstain from a drink from dusty desert’s watering hole—even in spite of little-lake’s lovely lambency emitting welcoming plops to encroaching equines’ clops. ; )

Feet, as pataches, sail around ceiling’s sea-ling, attempting to connect light patches so as to board boredom with a mutiny of happy tappy-toe scratches. ; )

“Honk, honk, honk, honk!” honked Gertrude to Genevieve as the dam broke way, letting the pond disembogue into the river. “Why be quackers over those crackers? If you do not want to end up in a casket, let us make a different way—towards a shore thing, that forgotten picinic basket!” ; )

“Thank you, cunctative groundskeeper,” reflected the risking boarder and the treasure hunter and the alighting gulls and the bonfire igniters and the sandcastle constructor and the beachcombers and the stuck wheeler and the unsheltered picnickers and the hider from the seekers and the mama turtle. ; )

Aves may be analphabet, but an alpha bet against can still read the breeze in order to uplift itself in a direction towards success—with ease. ; )