What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
~~Tatiana from A Midsummer’s Night Dream by William Shakespeare
September~~A month with diary pages written in the charcoal smudge from burning brush piles and a pen pocked with pollen from goldenrod and ragweed. This morning’s words are courtesy of a 4:37 a.m. itch to both get up and stay in bed–as well as a literal itch of the chigger bites between my toes, shoulder blades, and butt cheeks. The scratching on my torso triggers the scratching of Echo (Tanna’s kitty) outside my door, so I give in, get up, and write.
Summer Solstice~~the words read like poetry and trickle like magic when they fall from the lips. Though that date feels like ages ago, my mind has been revisiting the sun’s early rise and lazy exit each day since. In myescapistbrain, I often hope for Midsummer’s Dream fairies to land…
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