A Writer's 21st Century Memoir.
Every last leaf on the branches of trees in the late stages of autumn falls differently. Without the death of these leaves, there would be no transition from summer to winter.
The lingering moisture that gathered in the air has always done that to me. Perhaps a bit of the past was carefully mixed in along with the misty fog too.
I didn’t mind if I was widely and publicly mocked for something that genuinely made me happy. It was the season that forever holds the symbol of change and promise for new growth. #fall
OctPoWriMo Day 12: Writing Through Writer’s Block There are days when there is a need to write and yet nothing to say. A need to feel a fountain pen in hand gliding across a smooth page, Or the demand to feel plastic keys move up and down like a ballet. There’s a mission to move [...]
The power of the threaded four wheels propelled her rapidly down the city streets, and left the light flooding from the street lamps blurring behind them into the darkness. She let her bare foot slowly fall down on to the gas pedal, which made the car gradually speed up on the cool autumn pavement—and as [...]