Life is a highway. Time is a river. Got the idea? Climb on!

Elephants can fly (somewhere)

We smell rain and something rotten in Denmark.

We touch a nerve and embrace the wind.

We see an ant and feel its bite.

We taste love when the season turns to spring.

I hear Beethoven and see the revolutions of wheels in his motifs.

Abraham loved to drive down to Ein Gedi.

And elephants can’t really fly anywhere.

But if they could, they would probably love to visit the Alta Plana Desert.

Not.

Everyone in the room hated the new Bond movie, so it must be bad.

“Say, who dat dar? Whar is you? Slap ma cat silly ef I didn’ hear sumf’n.”

The lacey shoulders of hope.

Fruit flies like a banana. Time flies like an arrow.

No way I’d ever tell my Mama, but I smoked a cigarette in her closet sitting under her pink satin dress when I was 10.

He called her “Katie-poo”, and she came running with a grin

The storm clouds will rise and blacken the skies in symbols only the devil can read.

Holy nonsense.

The sandstone shapes stand silently in the moody dusk, orange and brown like giant muffins waiting to dance.

Honi soit qui mal y pense

The stones shrugged, then lumbered to their feet and began a slow, sad waltz.