When work becomes drudgery, run.
Accepting this singular piece of advice from my own crazy intelligence, I’ve run away for a bit to take a refuge in poetry. (Never thought I’d say that). Here’s an etheree after a long time, dear reader.
Sepia it be.
Make your soft folds
Colour me like light.
What is it you say now?
The light does fill that wrinkle?
And this little crevice here, too?
Ah so! I see, unblinded. You’ve worked.
My dear love, you’ve lightened my wrinkles so.