Please

In space between tools is an air of waiting. Patience as valid as dust. Mustiness is like a freshet, flowing into handedness of threads. There again, perhaps it's only the longevity of a spore, its lobo wandering blind. I could be pleased by this as easily. And you?
Topologically Green

Sleep

The well holds several minutes of sunshine. It can sparkle around in there, dissipating to a brink, to a shade of green. When the frog rises, which it will, there is a golden light, not of balls, but the moon once removed. Reflection is an aim. Absorption is a given.
Hundertwasser