On nights when the stars droop, we steal and hide the twelve o'clock pendulum, letting dreams of beauty sprout in a river of stars.
The Elf Cottage:
If the flower could talk, it would be whispering, “Every petal hides a kiss, and your smile, the most beautiful love poem.”
Nebulae the dream:
The setting sun dyes the clouds into satin, the elves weave them into glowing dreams, and I write my misses into rainbows in my eyes.
Sunny in summer:
A quiet moment of light and shadow weaving on a clear summer afternoon. The bright sun burns green kisses on the walls, and the shadows of the trees copy the shapes of the wind in slow strokes. It is a moment that holds the sweetness of summer. The curtains are raised and lowered by the heat, like a lazy breath. Time loses its scale here, and the brush paints a dream in the castle.
