Belonging to something greater, must be more than a gift, regarded as though in passing, like dreams that do uplift. Surely season's will come and they will go, as a breeze that does caress, reminding people of younger day's, when the world was without less stress. Sunday's are made to just relax, enjoy the sound's that pass. Listen to the leave's wrestle, on that gentle breeze, will always do best. Just take rest, focus on the importance of pausing, sleeping, and finding peace and stillness...
My Sweet Friend.
