Spring’s affliction is beginning to take it’s toll. The possibilities for momentary fixation are limitless. Mess around. Transform something old. Resurrect something dead. Discover something new. Just be careful not to leave everything in pieces.

Like a butterfly flying from flower to flower, not because she’s playing games of abuse and domination, but because she is seduced by all those tantalizing scents. As a matter of fact, the butterfly has no idea where she’s going nor, alas, what her tiny heart desires.

But this metaphor has become too sugary for my taste, and I can’t afford being more specific at the moment, so I guess I’ll have to end it here. For now.