Lydia is on a hike. She is looking for an inspirational spot to sit and write poetry. Lydia fancies herself a poet. Her search for an ideal poetic local leads her over hill and dale.
This little fawn knows of a private sunny spot, which he assures Lydia will rouse the muses and oil the poetic wheels. He gives her a lift to the edge of the clearing.
It is truly the perfect spot and Lydia wastes no time setting the stage for inspiration.
What comes to her mind is strange and not particularly uplifting, she has learned, however, never to censor her creative impulses. She always writes what comes to her mind. It is her way.
" Thick with sanguine inevitables and a sluggish velocity
Around a tiny pearl
The up and down of it all night long
The side to side bubbling seasickness
One awash with a hole filled heart and a heavenly gaze
Another with blood filled veins all lit up
Fly me to the moon."