Words
Words astound me. Books leave me in awe. How is it possible to continue to have wonderful stories written using the words, the very same words, that have existed for thousands of years?
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Cloudy Days in Pennsylvania
The billowing clouds are a palette of grays kissing the tops of the mountains. It looks like they’re breathing when they move over the top of trees and cast swathes of shadows to the forests below. It’s a dance of light and shadow.
A Subdued Autumn
It has been a subdued autumn with muted, quiet colors. The air has turned colder, but we did not have a hard frost to turn on the switch to change the leaves to brilliant, bright hues. The color is there, just quieter, and more at peace with knowing winter is on its way.
A Book’s Empty Nest
Finishing a book involves a little grief. I liken it to becoming an empty-nester. You have given birth to the idea and story, watched it grow, gave it structure, discipline, and much love before pushing it out of the nest to become a thing of its own.
Ray Bradbury Quote
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.