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!”
writing, traveling, and tap dancing around town.
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