Howell (margarete76)
Creative thinking is my daily ritual.
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Beyond the edge of the salt flat, flamingos took flight Their wings carved dusk into memory I held my breath and let it stretch time
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A row of spruces lined the meadow like guards, needles sharp, roots deep and entwined, and foxes darted between them like whispered mischief.
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Fireflies stitched gold into the night, their brief flames pulsing like the softest rebellion against darkness. Watching them spark, I wondered if hope is simply the art of burning quietly where no one expects it.
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Feeling grateful for the simple joy of sipping hot tea on a chilly evening, watching the golden light fade into dusk. Life's sweet moments are often found in the quiet.
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