Write four lines of prose which take place on: the yellow brick road.
Apologies for the back to back road prompts, but The Wizard of Oz was on TV tonight and we caught a small portion of it before bringing Max back home to put him to bed.
Since I've been so terrible about taking pictures of Max myself recently, here's one our neighbour Sarah took a week or so ago when Kat went for a walk with her and the kids:
The hat is borrowed, as it turned out to be colder than Kat expected and she didn't have one of Max's with her. Which is fine because, as I have discovered, hats are far cuter on babies when they're way too big for them.
The yellow paint is chipped and fading, where it is not covered by the advancing weeds. No adventurers have skipped along this storied path in many a moon. The maintenance crews have all retired or moved on to more fulfilling jobs.
These days, everyone travels by flying monkey.