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.
“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.
