The morning’s first brush strokes danced across the sky as the day stretched into a work of art. He breathed deeply and called it home.
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“Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.” – WB Yeats
The morning’s first brush strokes danced across the sky as the day stretched into a work of art. He breathed deeply and called it home.
The Teller of Tales 