Made of stories
I would like to kiss the New Year, but I can’t reach that high. I would like to glimpse what’s next, but I can’t open my eyes that wide. So I will simply sit here, on the floor, with the cats, telling stories.
I would like to kiss the New Year, but I can’t reach that high. I would like to glimpse what’s next, but I can’t open my eyes that wide. So I will simply sit here, on the floor, with the cats, telling stories.
Do it. Call me “greedy.” I’m not daring you. I’m not seeking absolution. I’m delighting in it. Do it!
I need the world to know. I need the galaxies to know. But most of all, bewildered sprite, I need you to know.
Ask the experts: did we fail or prevail at Tabby’s Place this June? Any month involving the Strawberry Moon would seem a guaranteed success. But the experts are not so sure.
I sincerely, obnoxiously believe it is totally, terrifyingly all up to me. Clearly I have not yet spent enough time in the presence of cats.
We were not all born to be comforting beverages. Once we get over this, we can get to the business of being pearls.