And automatically, the words became sentences, with stems and petals. Forced from the fertile soil, stories grew arms and legs. They not only held her dreams but they carried her to lands far away.
People have no idea what’s going on in my head. Most days i wish i didn’t either.
seasons: a poetic journey 
Superb truth
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Keep on keeping on, this is not over yet, not yet!
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We are definitely our own interior designers. Words have power to shape our world. Loved your intro words, Jeanne. 🙂
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