Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
| Clip clop Clip, clop; the unicorn passes them by. I hang like a fly under the harness. I have places to go where frightened men dare not — or can't. I chant to the beat of the clip-clop cant! We slow to a canter as we enter the village. Ten centaurs await us, blocking the way, braying — you shan't. (13.oktober.2023) |