Green grass, memories of smokey mountains.
Rubies on my finger, pearls in my ears, raindrops on my windows, dark blue sky.
This afternoon is mine, stolen time.
They say time is the thief of life,
this time I have stolen from the thief.
What I want is time in the bank, to take out when I need it
(a wish that I am sure has been expressed many times).

The other night, I dreamt that my sister was Pippi Langstrumpf and had bright red bunches.

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