The Milton Scribe

The twenty-fifth year past two-thousand ∘ & the those sands of time still slip slyly by ∘ I breathe in those lovely seconds of resolution as the world offers itself upon my senses so willing to embark on the act of absorbing at least the essence of their properties ∘ thus the collective frequencification brings about joy that curates into the fashion of our reigning attitude ∘ First toward ourselves & then unto others ∘ Sharing a wonderful smile as the stressors cease their turning of knobs so creaky with exhaustion, we hardly bothered to notice at first our ability to walk away from it all