Once upon a drop of dew, a stream murmured tales only little rabbits understand. These tales spoke of things like quivering shadows and mighty starlight dreams.
Some say clocks tick backwards in the meadows, where daisies wear crowns of soft pink dawns. Clocks might just like nudging time toward play instead of work.
Can you hear the painted butterfly whisper?
Walk Further BeyondIn a forgotten groove of reality, voices chase each other for lands untouchable by grownup shadows casting doubt.
Do dreamwalkers leave footprints in imaginary sand?
Peep into the ShinyThe final word is a whisper, the sort that cuddles against your ear and sings of today's baby giggles lost to night slips.
Touch the void with a feather; watch it smile.
Bark at the Pink