Losing myself through reading; Finding myself through writing.
At the recent meeting of my local writers group, we were provided with the word remembering as a writing prompt. Sometimes just one word can bring a whole emotional outpouring from my pen… so here we go. An image of a woman’s hand holding a Polaroid photo with a sepia image of a grandfather holding… Continue reading Remembering
She knows when he is nearby. She doesn’t have to hear him or see him. There is that fresh fragrance with a hint of deep, strong wooden undertones. It is crisp and clean. The smell of sweet pine on a Spring day. And underneath that reoccurring yet not permanent essence is another homely aroma. So… Continue reading Home
“It could be grief” he said. “But without death?” she replied “And that’s ok” he said, “because grief is not just a friend of death” The curling of her lips drawing his hand closer to her chin, “but one that visits at different, sometimes unexpected, stages of our lives.” “It’s ok to cry,” his fingers… Continue reading It could be grief
Wee Bubble of Books 