Where are the deer at this hour in winter?
Where do they go for warmth?
Do they feel this cold as we do?
They have not all disappeared.
I wish to know but I must settle
for in complete knowledge
at least for know
We are not meant
to know all.
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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