Nothing much to write about tonight, except that it’s happening at the end of a long day. When all sorts of ideas have been thought up and punched out of possibility like half-filled balloons, there is only a quiet space between wish and dream.
I could describe my wish and my dream, but they are more posterboard and glue than gem and metal. Nothing fancy, unlike shinier things, and less than loud. But they’re what lines my nest, so I am partial to them.