Wednesday, 12 October 2005
One, maybe two
puffs on a dandelion
and the seeds are gone.
Such are the years
I spent along these river banks.
Yet those years
still influence my thoughts,
and establish who I am.
The Writer's Block
She wanted freedom but her past kept her bound.
Friday, 7 October 2005
Small, shapeless snowflakes escape the darkness and hurl against my windows, the panes rattling under their assault. I shiver and pull my padded rocking chair closer to the blazing fireplace.
Flames lick and wrap around blocks of wood sacrificed on a metal rack, comsuming them layer by layer.
It troubles me, starts me wondering what am I that a tree should give up its life to keep me warm and content.