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Shapeshifting.

It could have been like any other day – dull and dreary to the bone, tired and stripped bare to the core.

But the sky was bluer than any other blue ever possibly concocted by a meticulous painter in preparation for his first masterpiece; the clouds as white and fluffy as newly harvested wool off an unsuspecting sheep; and the moon so bright, it could help power the streetlights of a small, fiercely independent nation.

A skip to your step, a leap to your heart, and no one would want to have it any other way.

Details of this entry.Friday, July 23, 2010, filed under Musings.
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