She woke with a start. Hand over her heart. Brow furrowed. Lips curled in a snarl. It was killing time.
Some weeks the words flow like a flowing river, cutting through their surroundings. Leaving an everlasting impression. The roar of water echoing throughout the landscape. Other weeks, its almost a trickle. Barely seen, where every tiny drop counts but never seems to reach the level you need. The sound of silence surrounding you. This weekContinue reading “Waiting for the words.”
Snow, road trips and writing.