Inspiration: Meadows

     Sitting at my desk, writing my novel, and all I can think about are meadows and eyes and mornings.
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The light, which was breaking, made the forest navigable. There were patches of day visible just beyond the cracks in the canopy above. By that dim green light, I walked on. And the forest floor was sharp and full of pine needles that scratched and punctured the soft flesh of my feet, but there was nothing like feeling, and no place I’d rather be.