The evening air, redolent of Frangipani blossoms, excites my dull senses. Energized, I plan to save the world of its unalloyed follies, or, in a more sober icy blue heartbeat, I resign myself to coordinating my steps with the undulations of the rain soaked grass. My penury of will, induced from the relentless patina of indifference, is gently transmuted by strengthening sojourns under rapturous trees.
Myth Of The Cave
wind on my back