Angels fly over our heads, and we remain intentionally unaware and ignorant. Every trip they make, they leave a gift in harmony – a flock of white, elusive and sweet yet innocent feathers, drifting in a soft samba, playfully manipulating the gentle light of dawn. They leave a message in shadows, a reminder of what we naturally fear – an image of a withered moonglow. They smile.

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Haven’t you always wondered what brewed in the open meadows of jasmine and saffron flowers?

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Soup du jour

Waning gibbous.

A cool spring – can you really call this spring? Festive lights shift in a light waltz in synchrony. Am I hallucinating, or are people at peace and asleep?

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Watching from a dimming light

People walk towards me. People walk away from me. People walk side-by-side and forget what it means to have a spine. People barely walk on their own, but do so anyways. Some people attempt to walk with stilts but have never used one before today.

Can’t you, people walking past this lamppost, walk properly around here, or has society made you forget how to do that too?

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