Real mornings start with dysania where sophrosyne exists. The sleep only disturbed peacefully by the psithurism and by the camhanaich gives birth to one who is couthy.

Far yonder under the light, shines the slant heimat.
The nubivagant eyes were eager to fill the lacuna. So
then, the solivagant journey starts like tarantism.

The metanoia meets its shades of gray. Brumous firmament overcomes the wonderful komorebi and soon the petrichor rises. The photophile tweaks itself to be the nyctophilia.

After the storm, the querencia draws forth strength.
Finally, the trouvaille gloriously shines in the apricity.
Coddiwompled towards the elysian peak. Free and
joyful through every minutiae.


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