Tag Archives: mud
dreamland
this is not what dreams are made of. dreams are not glamourous. they are simple. red brick houses bread cooling on the counter sunshine soft clothes made of cotton dirty bare feet jumping into the lake. keep your glitter sequins … Continue reading
Filed under fact, first person, prose, singular
The Running of the Pheasants
Over the years my father has had many hobbies, some stranger than others. These range from fishing and golfing to scuba-diving and collecting cookie jars (he calls them an investment). But the longest running hobby, and also his favorite, in … Continue reading
Filed under first person, singular
