I wouldn't mind living here in a dream house made of fog and inside it is warm like the pits of my stomach in the fall by a fire and every morning I can sit outside and write stories and then as I grow old I can reread them and think back on the life I have lived. At night I will dream about sailing into the valley below my home on clouds that form in the early dawn towards the rising sun. Vines will grow on my yellow happy home and the earth will let this home settle in like its friend and in the backyard I will plant flowers and vegetables and pick them in the weekend to eat, and sometimes I will find frogs and roly polies and little rabbits and my friends shall come for breakfast lunch and dinner and we will laugh and reminisce and love each other because that is what life is and all there is.
That's So sweet. I would love to visit you at your home in the clouds.
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