No more stories to tell just the stories not yet written for the coming January beginning and the promise of November’s 💋 to come.
My mind is wondering. My tongue is flying free to verses and rhythm. I find myself thinking of the past. I find myself thinking in a Bardic fashion and playful whimsical mood.
How shall I end this year well like I began this one and like I will begin the new with a call to be courageous with a gusto to say to that would be Rafe of death and fear when he whispers death and discouragement in to your ear..
“Move back. Know your place.”
My response….”Bitch, you move. Bitch, you better stay in your own damn place or I’ll drop kick your ass with size 11 boots to your face first and balls second son.”