It could have been a field of flowers, apricot sunrise honeying all. It could have been a berry patch, spread round with her the center, fingers damp with morning dew. It might’ve even been a dragon’s hoard, doubloons spilling from ruby-studded chalices, heavy pendants on worked, chain necklaces, diamond and emerald tiara resting on her head, proclaiming her queen of all she surveyed. Continue reading
I dreamt last night of snow.
It lay,
A thin blanket over vibrant late summer.
Silent white, still as death,
Satisfying in its containment.
The very first hour before sunrise is the most powerful time of day. Continue reading
The pen is mightier than the sword, but Actions must continue the conversation.
He lay the quill down beside his Manifesto, reaching to close the cap on the near-empty inkwell. Continue reading
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fiction and reflections by Margaret Sefton
Making literary art accessible 99 words at a time!
Life in progress
Write or write not - there is no aspiring.
Poetry and Commentary that Smells
poetry, fiction, art, books, retro
A dose of fetish. Good friends. An incomparable muse.
It's All True, None of It's True. Don't Ask.
Words of a clarklike female
Valley of the Trolls 