The January After Turning 65
Two Weeks Before. A frozen morning. Outside, an army of bone white trees. An icy clear sky. Birds pecking at the kitchen window. You say, 'it's only a number' the…
Two Weeks Before. A frozen morning. Outside, an army of bone white trees. An icy clear sky. Birds pecking at the kitchen window. You say, 'it's only a number' the…
And we find ourselves here again. On the trembling edge of a new year. Expectation cast into the unknown. The desire for closure; close the book, see it gone, tucked…
When I was younger, I would write very long stories. I learned by doing this. I also had a 'wordy head' connected to lots of thoughts. Now, I want simplicity.…