A sunken raft of weeds woven into a verdant morass of sound, song and story by the whinnying horses of the Ear Pocket hotel. This week: An attic nap. Words under pillow feel firmer than earth under foot. Too late to dig yourself out of your inbox. Lay down the shovel and come back in the house. Show archive at https://soundcloud.com/into-the-moss . Contact firstname.lastname@example.org.