another odd bird, in fancy evening wear

cool place for rest and respite

Some days I dive into the morass, and some days I hide out from it. This day I got some new paint colors to play with, and had a conversation with my sisters while I painted.

small brave beacon of hope shining through the turbulence

what makes monsters out of regular people? Or really is that their true selves? How can we talk sense when the whole world is screaming and shouting?

Old apple tree, we’ll wassail thee, and hope that thou will bear. For no one knows where we may go to be merry another year.

trying to see the way out of a dark place