In a diner of debatable standing, a guy says he caught a fish.
‘That ain’t real. Mine’s bigger,’ says the owner.
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No one seemed to care that the girl ran off with the dragon egg washed up by the shore. It’s not that I think it was wrong, but if I’d known no one would mind I might have nicked it for myself.
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Butterfly eyelids flutter open as a faint breeze caresses my cheeks. Iridescent spirits ride the wind, soaring through spring meadows, skimming wildflowers with pointed toes. I lie on my back amongst the swaying, tall grass in this blessed, abundant landscape, prospering in nature’s rebirth.
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The shed, though now charmingly overgrown, no longer functions as a shed. But at one time it certainly did…
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