Memories. 

Stories perched in the top of our heads. In our ROBBERS ROOST.

ROBBERS ROOST is the name of the treehouse behind the cabin. We go there sometimes, but not as often as we'd like --- to the cabin that is.

 We don't often go into the treehouse, hardly ever.

We go there sometimes, but not as often as we'd like --- into our minds that is.

 We don't often go into our ROBBERS ROOST of memories, hardly ever.

Memories. 

Stories perched in the top of our heads. In our ROBBERS ROOST.

A lovely place to keep them until we have the time or inclination to visit them again.

S~

   

Alexandra

When will I sit and write the words to our story? Words, like fireflies, that light me from within in their flutter of happiness. Good words. For now I"ll let those words pluck my cells. For now I want to feel them gayly within.
" You must come for me; you must find me, " I'd said to her.
 I knew she would when I looked into her eyes.
My Alexandra.

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