Woke up to subzero temps this morning, grateful that there is nothing…NOTHING…that requires me to go outside the house today. Yesterday, I returned overdue library books (a gothic horror novel by Elizabeth Hand, and a thick collection of Pablo Neruda poems), picked up a few grocery necessities, and got that teaspoon-sized dose of human interaction that’ll do me for about a week. Cuz Introvert. Continue reading
The days were endless, the nights not long enough. She was tired, but too well-rested. She had all she needed to restore her health, but was weary of doing the work to rejoin the world.
Midnight river of earthy darkness tumbles into indigo coffee cup. It cuts the heavy silence of an empty house. A single tangelo, head snapped open, peel bent and bursting forth with the sharp scent of new ideas. I take my treasure out the front door. Continue reading
A creative miscellany of mythic fantasies
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
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Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
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my views.. my way
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Valley of the Trolls 