Twas a dark night with the clock just past noon, I was dancing in the forest with a mouth full of June. It was not thou June but it twas July. Yes I would never lie. Though that night I lied right there in bed, nothing more but a hen on my head. Not only was this hen so bright, but a bit fluffy and matched me with my tights. These tights were not new but old a raggedy, but the good kind what you’d see from a show. A fashion show with lights all lit and the runway blaring of eloquence and beauty. Surely though never nudity. No my friend it was not that show, but that’s when I went on my way. The bears were big and the rosemary was fresh. Kind of like my breath. The breath that makes the wall paper fall off. Not the walls but the ceilings where the starts fall silently pas the river which I floated. Down the rapids of jagged turtles, the lovely kind though. Like the ones you’d go play fetch with on a Saturday afternoon. Just walking down the street called Broadway, everyone’s envious of that darn tortoise. But what could I say?! Other than eh, but that’s not what I’m here to tell you about. The words I speak are clear and crisp kind of like the ones falling off my lips. You may think you know your queue but don’t ever come crying boo hoo. Back to my day in what was it July that I decided id tell a lie. It was not the lie you’d find on the blade of your stick, but more the one you’d speak with your lips. I said it but it was not huge, if I remembered I would tell you though. It has nothing to do with this story which you may think you’ve received but you are wrong like always. Some say they can understand like a midnight sun in July, fishing out on the ponds at 3am. But wrong it is not about the sun of midnight but the sun that never sets. Not the one in the sky, but the one in the heart. You may know what I’m talking about, but you don’t. Nobody is able to comprehend these words. Not even me my friend. Such as the cricket that just hopped across the floor. Reminds me of my grasshopper I once held as a pet. Yes and I mean my pad won, He was quiet the happy guy. If only he was more than 3ft tall. Now as I wrap this up it will not be on the ever so happy note you would enjoy. But the note is more somber like the mood when I ever so gently floated down the sea of burgundy red. Which is most defiantly where I saw myself, all ready for bed. But not to fast as I floated away, into the a cave of cotton or clay? That is where I have left me raft. Then and there I walked into the cave which transported myself to India. Where they refused to serve me my Pad Thai. No that was not a lie. Which brings me back to the frozen pond of the North, which I shall return to as well all go forth.