moralsand expected writer doesn't write to standard.
it will come when the time is right.
but on the narrow long road there is not a fight.
no speed rivals overtaking each other.
just a single person enjoying his side of life.
staring in your face.
around all of her grace.
is a light.
that illuminated the unlighted road.
what is the point of building a short road, i ask.
short roads don't serve as much purpose.
i guess that is what we really are.
but a short road isn't all that bad.
after all, the turnings into my road are short ones.
and if they weren't short, people would take a longer time to come.
but what is a longer time to me anyway.
i don't care for speed.
but i guess it means something to them,
so good for you.
but a sole person sometimes gets lonely.
sometimes he wishes his horse would talk.
but people on the big roads don't believe in that gibberish.
and people on big roads have somewhat an influence.
you make it seem as if i'm pulling you over.
i wouldn't say that.
perhaps maybe shout my congratulations across the short road.
because it is short the words will most probably get across.
and you'll be on your way again, and i'll be on mine.
and so that about sums up my day.
of course, i say my day.
because it is my day.
and one will never understand the others day completely.
the wooden wheel begins to spin again.
along with the pinwheel with its fragility.
the colours of the blades juxtapose into one.
becoming the bond that connects us.