Apr 9
1 min read
“Chi dorme non piglia pesci”
A dry-leaf-not-dead-yet on left-hand-wing, kept me from seeing the delicious Pistachio-latte-top ice cream cake, the reason to horizon, I chew an olive seed instead and was replaying Stoic melodies, hmmm ahhh carrying rocks up the mountain of hesitation to learn a lesson tonow, instead of tomorrow when death is cuddling with my faith.
An Adriatic fisherman gave me 3 grapes to hashtag a youthful blush that was still oxygenating my cheeks perfusing white-pinkish-pelican birds flying against autumn winds, harvesting survival-race-rushed sardines.
