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The Aunty tells her childhood tale, the loggers who saw the tree blink and open…
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Watching clouds at the end of the day: a short poem of sorts
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A brief whisper of fantasy, a narrative of an evening dream, that rhymes occasionally.
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To see a face across the miles, and a rising sky of summer stars.
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Not sure if this one was previously published, but it observes the end of a fine journey, at the end of a long summer’s day, when the sunlight fades into the close of dusk…
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At times personal, occasionally philosophical, hopefully though, a wryly amusing uplifting piece about legs, distances, landscapes, tall towers, overcoming challenges, and the importance of the journey.
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