Where You Are
I see you still It’s in those small moments, you arrive And always without warning This morning, it was birds
Continue readingWriting & Other Things
I see you still It’s in those small moments, you arrive And always without warning This morning, it was birds
Continue reading‘Antarctica,’ she says. The word, cool on her lips, like a brush of springtime air. It reminds her of Edgar, though she can’t think why. Did he ever go to Antarctica? She can’t imagine he ever did, but now, as she stares at the tablecloth, she can’t be sure.
Continue readingI have waited years to be able to tell her this, years spent dodging that question: “What’s happening with your book?” And now, finally, I can answer it, finally she has an answer.
Continue reading‘He looked at the field and tried to imagine it. Not just the colour, but the smell, the movement. Real flowers would have swayed in the breeze. He knew that much.’
Continue readingThere’s a man in my neighbourhood who is trying to befriend the crows. At least, I assume that is what he is doing.
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