Days are long.
Nights are hasty.
Time is scarce.
Joy must be sought where it can be found.
Up and down.
Back and forth.
I love to stroke back there
Removing all traces not gagging
When that place out there twirls and spins on its tilted axis
I reach for my brush and paste.
I bask in this small task that isn’t a task at all. All I am and all I have to give is a good brushing.