There are those days that spin by in a beautiful frenzy, that make your head burst in glorious plumes, where you throw yourself from trees and put your faith in the infallibility of safety harnesses.
you dig your nails in here and there, trying to leave an impression, to capture an instance, an amalgamation of above and below; something to mark the passage of fleeting.
Where you can but hope that it makes as much sense after you get it off your chest and into the white space, that you get it down before it evaporates in the morning.
I’ve had one of those. Good things should blossom.