Letting Life Lead
Her fingers are dressed in weathered rings. A lifetime of lacework mottles her skin. Wrinkled, rough knuckles slide beneath tatting threads; fingers shift the shuttle, pulling assured knots.
My flower droops.
“Lovely,” she says.
“Nothing wrong with loosey-goosey.” She chair dances, never dropping the count. “Another!”
Made on Mars.
The place where all the things I write live
Writer and procrastinator
Warden of Words // Shaper of Stories
Bewitching Journey of Words to Meaning
This is the story of building a cottage , the people and the place. Its a reminder of hope and love.
The 24 hour Writing Hotspot and Hang Out
Just your average PhD student using the internet to enhance their CV
Every now and then my head is racing with thoughts so I put pen to paper