Granted, but there's waaaaaay too much and you freeze to death. Or you get hypothermia. Either one.
I wish I could go on chat right now.
I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest. The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time. Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus. If I were to pluck on your heart strings would you strum on mine?
A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it. — Roald Dahl