this may look like a drought in any other place, here it’s simply July in the desert the lengthy landscape of frog choirs along the creek are gone, some crowded into the drainage swill at the walk b
words ripped from darkness by sharpened teeth and spit like hailstones in red rain there are many victims, including the dead and wounded moments of peace even the sun will peek out from behind a
until you reach it, you’ll only dream of retired life, especially after seventy I’m sure most imagine it as easy, but it has its own crosses to bear like you’ve been on the phone for hours
Comments