somewhat sille, that's me!

The paper boat set sail down the gentle stream, just drifting along. There was no wheel nor rudder, just the whim of the current. But the sky was amiable and there were fresh blooms, stereotypically dreamlike. Is that the thunder? The skipper pondered if she should lower the anchor.

See these leaves, creeping furtively up the sky. It feels like that sometimes.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.