Ivaohara: Mist
eliot.: Like A Star.
eliot.: Flare.
Tina Sosna: Dear Moon,
Tina Sosna: Will you find your way home?
Tina Sosna: I will not forget the feeling nor the smell, the changing seasons the first with you
Tina Sosna: Things are changing and seasons too
Tina Sosna: Winter's breath
Tina Sosna: Where we belong