"The time has come," the walrus said. "To talk of many things:" to let the stream of consciousness encroach and rhyme some things. I'll type my thoughts and let them flow and ebb upon the tide of laptop keys and cups of tea and the thoughts that form inside.
March is coming, oh March is coming, but still the winter snow is falling through the frozen air and creeping to my door. I carve a path, say twice a night, on times that come and go, and every time I reemerge,
the snow,..the snow,..the snow!
It's funny, odd, a little queer that time has gone so fast, and I have been here- yes, a year- and all these days have passed. Matsuri, now there's a word, and one that's commonplace in Japan: each season's turn has festivals and something new to learn.
The beat of drums and tempo'd feet that rush into your ears and through your core and to your soul and through the long gone years. Shishi, oni, kagura, these words I love, imbibed like strongest sake:
warm and light and heady on the side.
And don't forget the outside world, the riches past Horizon. Who knows what else I haven't seen but soon I'll be describin'!
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