Maybe you're a little late, maybe you're a hurricane.

the smell of woodsmoke in the dark

sunlight glittering on drifts of snow

opening chords to a classic song after an ad break on the radio

daisies in a mason jar

the curve in the road you always take a bit too fast

blank notebook with a leather cover

a stone church with carvings and spires and stained-glass

a cool pillow and a warm blanket at midnight

playlist that makes sense to no one else

yellow leaf floating down a clear cold river

silver fog over green hills and warm hands in raincoat pockets

a strain of violin music floating through a crowded subway

the smell of woodsmoke in the dark

sunlight glittering on drifts of snow

opening chords to a classic song after an ad break on the radio

daisies in a mason jar

the curve in the road you always take a bit too fast

blank notebook with a leather cover

a stone church with carvings and spires and stained-glass

a cool pillow and a warm blanket at midnight

playlist that makes sense to no one else

yellow leaf floating down a clear cold river

silver fog over green hills and warm hands in raincoat pockets

a strain of violin music floating through a crowded subway