When the trees are glossed in ice
and the sun glances through them with rising fire
They bat the light back and forth, a plaything
And I think
AAAAAAAAAAA THE TREES ARE SPARKLY!!!
Sorry. Poetry is just too grandiose, my brain can’t go there when all that’s running through my tiny mind are oh my fucking god the trees are sparkly, sparkles sparkles sparkles. I’ve regressed. Just in typing this, I’ve keyboard smashed so much that I accidentally opened up a bunch of weird windows for which I didn’t know there were keyboard hotkeys, like an HTML debugger. If it’s not what the sparkles have done to my brain, it’s what the cold has done to my fingers.
Here’s something random. My boyfriend writes songs for fun. Every once in a while I’ll sing one of his songs for him. Hopefully these blues will gently bring us all back down from the sparkle high.