How I adore droopy women, and this one is droopier than most. There’s a character in the book I’m writing just like this. From the outside, she could have no bones at all but simply be a wraith hanging in still air. I’d hate to BE a droopy woman. Lorks, that would be frustrating. Imagine …
Darlings, thank you for contacting me. I shall reply soon, though you may have to wait a little; there’s a deadline on my desk and an editor standing behind me with a gun to my head. If my brains aren’t spattered across the screen by Friday, I shall begin sifting through my correspondence and replying to those …
Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
Today, as I sat listening to the radio, an ant crawled slowly along my arm and across my hand. Let’s hope this is not the beginning. Nor the end.