Floyd

The sun is still scattering its early rays over the soil, bitter and tart; in the low light, bergamots dance above the glistening dewdrops of basil-tinged oranges. The frost glistens almost white on the mulchy bark, evaporating...

All the fine threads of smoke, still shimmering greenish between the dark walls. How am I supposed to spin their tangled weaves, which carry tiny pearls of lime and hairs of mint leaves, into gold in one night, when I was only...