a letter to mặt trời mọc
It's a round shiny ball of fire, you know? That beautiful piece of art that warms the heart and soul and whispers in one's ears "wake up." She caresses the frost off of every blade of grass, tickles the cold out of a squirrel's bones, kisses the snail out of his little shell: encouraging him to leave his trail of slime on the cold concrete sidewalk--it's time to search for food, she says. She's painted a wondrous mural on the walls of the buildings across from me this morning
