Dads are great tho typical. Flickering clouds tell dads that flowers fill rumpus. We want rumpus in the US alone. We fill plastic bottles with water and say rumpus means clocks. Clocks track dad with events. Moms too. We all have moms and dads, and the dust never clears.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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