Tuesday, August 11, 2020

I have created a small corner of chaos, simply through resisting your touch. You beckon me out, morning chores to begin, and will order my dwelling while I labor in the sunshine.

Kicking against the current, I go nowhere. Let me surrender, limp, and float through your magical lands.

All I need do is sigh: Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,040)