I wish you could touch them through the screen. They’re delightfully dry and noisy to the touch, like the crepe paper they use for those tiny parasols that might come in your drink. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a tiny parasol in any of my drinks in a long time. What’s up with that?
For a few years now, I have been building the image in my mind of a particular woman who is all the things I’d like to be. I borrow bits and pieces from men and women who inspire me online and in my everyday life, and snippets from characters fictional and historical.
I make all of my decisions with this woman in mind: Does this choice help me become her? Does it serve her?
Remnants of the guardian of the attic, who watches over charges of bundled dried flowers.
Fresh baked by the dozen.