A path on Hampstead Heath

The leaves are turning on the heath, autumn is here. Is it already October first? Time flies when you’re trying to finish a novel! At least I’m walking again, bringing back my sanity, as each mile passed underfoot holds within it a chapter, a paragraph, a sentence, an image. They say nature is the best therapy. At night I dream of flying above treetops, my weird bird feet gently grazing the leaves like a whisper of green. My friend said the dream means freedom. It felt like peace. Perhaps the two are bound.

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