It has been a while, but we are still here. Alive and kicking ... Looking forward to the next hang.
Meanwhile, a small gift for you all:
The wind that bends the bough above,
As the specter of sleep collects his toll.
Gently envelops you as if a glove,
And frees at last your weary soul.
From a mind unbound,
As weariness rings,
Peace is found.
As my hammock sways.
The trees bid welcome,
A perfect ending to a perfect day.