chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things


oak leaf
Kendra sat at the kitchen table, needle in hand, the long thread of dental floss coiling and uncoiling in her lap with each movement. The bucket of brown oak leaves was beside her on the floor. She reached down with her left hand, picked a leaf from the bucket, stabbed it neatly at just the right spot near the stem end, and drew the floss through the hole. She had this idea about making leis for Thanksgiving. It was probably a stupid idea. She could already see, thirty minutes and three inches into the first one that it had achieved her usual level of obsessive impracticality. But she picked, stabbed, picked, stabbed, adding one glossy leaf after the next…
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oak leaf photo

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