The clocks had already circled backwards when I took shelter in the passageway beside the second hand book shop.
Pumpkats – Rattertats! Hatterchats? Soupcats!
A lone reflection for sorrow A life-long mate brings mirth Fledgling foretells a funeral Charming broods a live birth
Personal narratives are something we all construct, even if we choose not to share them.
Today is a day for thinking about doing. Not actually doing. Just lazily reading about it:
Words ramble less widely than thoughts, especially so when thoughts flow in pictures.
Homity pie and loss Poems That Make Grown Men Cry