Thursday, October 28

almost a poem




sleeping under four blankets - a cosy kind of cold;
apples and cheese for lunch in a sundaysleepy village;
the prettiest fig, straight from the tree;
getting lost in the fairytale streets of a rocktop town;
reading and peoplewatching at the airport;
walking in silence for hours, with thoughts falling down softly and uninterrupted.

No comments:

Post a Comment