watching_crows_fight_against_the_wind pony Spread like fingers, black on white pages. Shorter but faster I migrate, leisurely frantic, each thought that soars into my brain. For a long time I shut out the noise, and closed my eyes to the wind, letting it touch my face and pass unacknowledged, because there were more important frantic things, like dishes and laundry and daily square meals. I took chores slowly yesterday, bathing in the sun, laundry on the line, and my mind in turn was a gale of good ideas. Today the wind picked up and the noise shifted, and the only inner pace resembled is that of birds, moving like snails across the sky; blink, and you wouldn't miss a thing. 240228 what's it to you? who go blather from