And, the meerkat scout, provided a boost by his warthog bestie’s hogback, does espy in the lea—far, far away—that standout for the lookout: a gem in the seas below most knees that bends for no breeze and brights milieus with ease. ; )

Feeling head-hung, she traipsed to the shore’s head, where she hung her arms over the boardwalk’s railing to finger-dance a wave to the sandpiper—and, unbeknownst to both regarding its reciprocity, in that moment, they each saw the other through the warmthful hues of rose-coloured glasses.

On the way to the harbour’s godown teeming with mountains of mackerel and salmon and trout, dapper kitty forgot not to stop and smell the roses—and eat each one that tickled its snout. ; )

If each cupped hand is a speos for this hardened heart, each one a tomb for arid eras of eros, then your fingers are like the blades that break through sidewalks and stone—and fill vacant spaces with hope for both healing and happiness.

That human being is on a tear of resistentialism again, kicking that poor mowing machine for not starting, which is misplaced blame since I am the one who gnawed the tubes in order to ensure that my greens are whole rather than shreds, a manner in which they provide not only nourishment, but, as well, linens for sleepy-bunny beds. ; )