Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Thursday, December 07, 2000

To sleep...

I'd like to live in a temperate zone, I think .... with mild summers and winters and a lack of the temperature changes that cause me to ache so badly.

I'd like to sit on a dock, dangling my feet into the cool water below and listen to the dragonflies buzzing and the frogs croaking while watching the sunset, just once more, and know that it was my place to be.

I'd like to curl with my friends around a fire once again and add my voice to their songs that rise into the night with each spark from the flames, riding the updrafts into a single, joyous melody.

I'd like to dance barefoot on the sands to the sounds of steel drums, hand in hand and heart in heart with people whose only cares of the moment are for living the music.

I'd like to walk the misty moors and lay in the heather, to chase sheep and climb hills and breathe in the air of my ancestral home.

To sleep, perchance, to dream.

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