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You know they gotta be good. Tis the season to bestow my bliss on thee. My connection to Santa; who does not live in Atlanta, wishes to bestow my spark, in the park on a lark. I do hereby give you what I have in my heart. As the trees are christened with snow from above, you can tell that it's the season with the flight of a dove. All of this happens in the spirit of love.

Leaping from one project to another. I always do things with style and grace. Look at me ma; I'm as free as a bird. As I scurry my way through the day, I'll try not to get stuck in a funk where I can smell a skunk because that's disgusting. I prefer the aroma of a rose as it blossoms into maturity.