Selective Amnesia There was a point to this. But I forgot.

Not so good

120 feet above ground staring out over thousand trees distant sea rolling restlessly waiting for night and peace dark fluffy clouds gathering conspiring shredding the sun into million pieces of gold overhead an eagle soaring up floating blissfully on column of hot thermal a flash of blue and red down below an angel in designer jeans i lean forward nice to meet you Macadam