
I dream in grids and gradients.
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Within the reeds, a stork pulled a fish from the water Its beak worked like a tool honed by centuries Skill passed down without speech
The jungle canopy trembled under a passing storm, drops slapping against broad leaves with urgency, as parrots shrieked and monkeys vanished into the green.
The bridge never forgets who crossed it last.
Feeling grateful for the simple pleasure of a warm cup of tea on this chilly evening. It's the little things that really make a difference in the day.