Mind full of crickets. Life ping's around, like a kid kicking a Coke can. The future of the invent is like an expecting Mom not wanting to know the sex on the ultra, "You never know what you're getting until it get's here." Thoughts all wrinkled, optimism is the maid that irons them out, fear is the mud that tries so hard to dirty them up again and again, but then faith is always the Tide that Surfs right in and cleans them Fresh, like lavender spring wind. Mornings bring new chances, evenings remind us to take full advantage of whatever's left in the rest of our 24, nights mean it's over forever and ain't no turning back. The jukebox only plays two tunes, happy or sad, so the song you sing should always be worth the quarters you spend. I Love the mood that the forest is in when flowers are blooming, "Silent and Beautiful," with Bambi skipping thru its bush not stressed because all the wolves have been humbled to puppies. The sun joins the party, so it shines down and dances across the grassy floor, like Sammy playing Bo Jangles on Broadway. An audience of chatty birds whistle and applaud from their branch seats perched high above in maple flavored pine trees looking down on chickens who've forgotten that they have wings and are too afraid to fly. Moving like a slinky, the water falls meeting the rest of its body in a pool big enough to hold its weight, causing a cool mist of spit to spray tired and parched leaves from all the bouncing around to the beat of a soulful breeze. This kind of mood is what silences the crickets and gives ink to a future that was once only just paper.
