I know a girl we’ll call her Alice dresses does she wear her hair is fortunate a crown upon which birds nest and coo and cluck in the springtime after the rains before the sun is spent in urging little left to know but the ribbons captivating the strained strands from bursting as she twirls kaleidoscope like across meadows filled with posies and flowers and hope until light fades and the shadows dance betwixt the pines and ancient oaks at the edge of the meadow where the posies and flowers and hope have turned to napping until the next day when it all begins again, and then the parade of natural wonders never cease spinning and tumbling and spiriting themselves this way and that- the dragonflies dragoning, the lilypads lilying, the frogs frogging, and the ladybugs ladying create a cacophony to which the girl we’ll call Alice spins around wondering if she’ll ever stop but then why would one stop spinning in such a field as this, with the posies and flowers and hope upon which the whole world stands in awe, destroyed by the earnest way the grass grows and fights the shadows so bent on invading the parade of natural wonders where the birds nest and coo and cluck until the fall when they fly north nowhere but north no map could find them no compass dare track them, they are black dots against a slate gray chunk of sky that day, casting shadows over the meadow where the birds used to nest and coo and cluck in the hair of the girl we’ll call Alice, with ribbons captivating the strained strands from bursting as she twirls kaleidoscope until light fades and the shadows dance betwixt the pines and ancient oaks at the edge of the meadow where the posies and flowers and hope have turned to napping until the next day, when it all begins again, and then the parade of natural wonders never cease spinning and tumbling and spiriting themselves this way and that- the dragonflies dragoning, the lilypads lilying, the frogs frogging, and the ladybugs ladying create a cacophony to which the girl we’ll call Alice spins around wondering if she’ll ever stop but then why would one stop spinning in such a field as this, with the posies and flowers and hope upon which the whole world stands in awe, destroyed by the earnest way the grass grows and fights the shadows again and again and again and again until everything blurs together, her dresses, her hair, her crown, the birds, the posies, the hope, the meadow, the pines, the ancient oaks, the parade of natural wonders, the dragonflies, lilypads, frogs, ladybugs, the shadows, the black dots, the map, the compass, the spring, the autumn, turn into the kaleidoscope which the girl we’ll call Alice twirls and spins it all out again every spring, every autumn, every cacophony, every straining, every dare, every light fading, every hope, every earnest way.

I lied.  We’ll call her Sarah.

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