The morning creeps up on me with whispers of chances, tempting and simple delights. By day end I’m jaded, weary and lost, and sleep till the dawn comes again.
Flash Fiction Fridays
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- A Death in The Family
- At Swim Two Birds
- Barthes
- BASS
- Black Swan Green
- Blindness
- BLOGGING
- Borges
- Calvino
- Clockwork Orange
- Confrontation
- Consolation of Philosophy
- Cormac McCarthy
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- EDUCATION
- Faulkner
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- Henderson The Rain King
- if on a winter's night a traveler
- Ishiguro
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- Life of Pi
- LITERATURE
- Margaret Atwood
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- Munro
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- POETRY
- provinces of night
- REALITY
- St. Augustine
- Steinbeck
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- The Unbearable Lightness of Being
- Tropic of Cancer
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- William Gay
- WRITING
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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"I foresee the successful future of a very mediocre society."
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The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology