The Family Heirloom
“Why words, when they’re so slippery?” Whisperings find me standing At the bridge — Squinting through light and darkness To see what’s left to hold as tra...
“Why words, when they’re so slippery?” Whisperings find me standing At the bridge — Squinting through light and darkness To see what’s left to hold as tra...
“My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.” ~ John Keats Growing up in the countryside rewarded with plenty of time to observe things. We didn’t ha...