Proceed.

 Wolves and doors.

Grizzly Bears Don't Fly Airplanes.

This year has been one with many reasons not to write. However the listener hears and makes sense of this, I did not listen. One hand wrote purple prose. Porch doors, all screens and slap and springs that need oiling. One hand pressed delete. Receptive. Dreaming. Release. Cinnamon and camphor. Five minutes was more and less than what could be spared. Still your heart, breathe, do some exercise but nothing strenuous four hours before bedtime. Wear sunscreen, that song still itching under the frosting of my cake. Unliving, it spreads through willing hosts. Speaking plainly is for tomorrow. This is boxing day when servants voyage home to families with boxes from their employers. Fingers are limber. On to the work we can neither finish nor desist from and all this jazz.