in a winter’s morning i could see the trees soaring over the roof top’s.I can see my friends writing and thinking right beside me.While i write i was writing i could hear the birds chirping away in a lovely tune.i can touch the black gravel lying flatter that a thiner then a peace of white smooth paper on the ground.
I can touch the rough dark brown bark covering the tree like a cloth.i can smell the burning tires on the ground.Then peach jumped up it was time to go in side