The warm poetry of a smile, welcomes spring’s tender touch. The gentle sanctity of a forest bower, protects that which shelters there. The constant seeking of joy, Is joy itself.
Threads, emerald and gold, twined and winding, wrap about me, warming my body in the biting chill of winter.
Sand. Toes rubbing against sand. Sand between them, between toes and underfoot. At this time of the morning, early, before the sun has risen, in the chill, she gazes out […]
Party night in Declanville. Gina will be there with Tom, of course. Marti said she would try to get there but she has something on. Ben has a thing but […]