Bank shots from 180 feet away

No matter what I do, it keeps throwing life at me. 

The Jerusalem beetle got stomped out, and then in my pocket was a young, green, live worm.

I’m just another bug walking a path. 

But sometimes I understand that I am the angel floating down it.

She wants to talk about the happenings in the mud and the flood, and I’m done talking about that. I am not doing that.

She’s eyes wide shut with a mark of faith.

And the horseshoes of footprint jogging shoe luck are coming up the trail in the opposite direction. Clippity, clop, clop, clop. They’re coming into me.

You are in the dream, so act as if.

Mockingbird wish me luck.

You’ve always been here without your ego dancing around. You’ve been hitting full-court shots, calling glass and banking them in.