For your eyes only, a little tease banner-pocket size puddles of eleven-a small thread of a big heavy rug. As the proud Dad of this rabble spawn, it's quite something to stand on the periphery of it all-a universe of hope, anticipation and possibility to survey before birth date, before the big hand hits twelve.
It's a vantage point that renders the effrontery of the mundane as mere pettyfog, the hours of knee grazing and tongue gnawing as measured wing waiting.
Art is all about timekeeping, after all.
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