silver lines the trees and gold lines the skies belly
strip of pink azure highlight the docile clouds as the pine forests rise up all around a mist devours the eye line and as it does cloaks my clock time stops it doesn't exist here no more are we bound to the slave driver of 24 hour monotony but the metronome strikes one two three minus seven
plus twentyfive cupcakes filled with a blackberry light jam capable of aiding in levitating your shoes the mist unfurls and a mountain peak emerges as i run towards the ever rolling stones that gather no moss but pass by the chicken and chip shops to wards green earthyness and fresh produce