Fleeting Summer
Summer is fleeing more quickly than an ice cream cone dripping on a sweltering summer’s day. It’s hard to believe it’s the end of August and that we’ll greet September in just a few days
Summer is fleeing more quickly than an ice cream cone dripping on a sweltering summer’s day. It’s hard to believe it’s the end of August and that we’ll greet September in just a few days
Every story I’ve written was written because I had to write it. Writing stories is like breathing for me; it is my life. Ray Bradbury I agree.
August is a jewel of a month where life is burgeoning and near bursting in the sunshine, saturated days. It’s the month we’re eking out every little bit of summer left before the lusciously cool days of autumn.
My grandmother was a reader. I often saw a book by her favorite living room chair and on her bedside table.
I learned long ago, that I should always have a piece of paper and writing implement nearby. I was looking for a tablet and ran across this passage written at an unknown time. I don’t remember the when, but I do remember the night.