Icicles
Thoughts provoked (inspired?) by icicles outside of our window after an unusual week of snow.
Thoughts provoked (inspired?) by icicles outside of our window after an unusual week of snow.
One day I lost, for the last time, writing that I could not recall or recreate, and from that moment on I wore pen and notebook as garments, though they were much more vital to me than clothes. More than instruments, pen and paper were extensions — appendages even. Ink was blood, and writing, the contract it signed.