This is not a front-end that is connected, neither is it anything else much. Perhaps it's just a crystal ball into the unknown...
Image by WILLGARD from Pixabay
“I will be catching the next train to freedom regardless of any closed doors; all fears will not be opened, thank you very much, especially those that are not mine,” said Harry to the open doorway that was open.
Over in the valley of hidden hearing, Sun-Juice Explosion was searching for the doorway as well. A bird flew over and cast a shadow that went north. “A sign!” cried Sundown Sunset, and followed the shadow northwards.
The thinking trees were squeaking and trying to become small, but that was not to be. The black cloaked demon spied over creation and thought it was lovely to be to see such destruction everywhere going according to plan, the minions doing as ordered.
But it is a small matter, and creation has its own plans to deal with that.
“Ah mushrooms,” said the gardener taking his daily walk in the woods.
Image by WILLGARD from Pixabay
It is right here in this story that we introduce the Earl of Sandwich who is eating a pasty. He's a very nice man, but more about him later.
And now we get to the very interesting part of the story: coffee time.
Time for a break...
“Thinking as a living as you're thinking I'm thinking my mind is thinking that thinking is thinking. Ah, the thinking thoughts of thinking. We must not out-think ourselves, said the thinker to the thought; and where do you think you come from said the thought to the thinker, thinking such thoughts? Oh, and by the by, there will be a re-counting shortly said the notice at five to ten right here for all to see as the dust has an urge to grow backwards to be free, and the minions in the dust are a strange urge too, controlled by the thought processes of the thinking tree,” said a little man thinking too much resting his head under the tree.
Image by Johannes Plenio from Pixabay
22 pickles were for sale at ten dollars, but the Earl of Sandwich was full, so he went home, and that's all to be said about him.
The train is rumbling to freedom as it always has done. It is full of flyswatters going on holiday wearing make-up to cover their beauty; the bumping of the wheels on the tracks lulling them to sleep.
Rain patters the windows as the train sinks into the black tunnel and disappears forever from this story.
The swellings of upliftment were lifting Sundown Sunset higher and higher north towards the aliens in their huge spacecraft, parked where it could not be seen.
“Blasphemy!” said the red traffic lights to the minions who all mumbled agreement as they began to melt in the hot sun's rays.
Plasma Overload began to pray then that it would all soon be over.
As coffee was finished, the author of all this began to wrap it up, preparing to move on.
Image by WILLGARD from Pixabay
The gardener, smiling brightly, had gathered his mushrooms and was going home for tea. He was English and lived in an eco-house under the sea, and was related to CQ who was calling again: “CQ calling, CQ calling, come back, all is forgiven. CQ over and out.
On a sigh hanging out of shape from a lamp-post these words were there: ‘there are many windows of desolation, but in our secret hearts we have a friend who can dissolve all the sorrows with nothing; but the sea in waves washes away the castles of sand, and there are more waves than sand, though each comes alone; so much sea for a grain to become one.’
There was a lot of despair on the edges that came between what wasn't there yet and was vying for the grandstand place, but the exceptional was the guard of the day and was writing notes to the friend in regards to the higher placement that had been asked for.
In a place that was forgotten, a wheelbarrow of grace was being delivered as a gift in the timeless place as this story drifted into an open doorway that swallowed it up.
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