An angel, that is what I ought to be.

Instead, I lay in the posy fields outside the fence and dream of the life within.

Mama always says.

"Too inquisitive, too bright for her own good."

But Wandering Spirit, nomad bound to the gaseous winds that blow through our small region, this makes much more sense if you are going to try to title me.

Me, of all people.


But family, oh, family.

Why are you searching for them, when they reside in your heart?