The window is open tonight, the breezeless evening sighing in the silence of the moon. Another sleepless sheep wanders the pastures beyond the glass pane, grazing on grass that cries in the fond memory of golden sunlight dew. Occasionally the sheep stops to inspect the odd flower protruding from the greens, but she steps past…
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Rocks
If the thing had been in a fairytale or a nursery rhyme, I reckon it would have been the big, bad wolf. Its stomach would have been carefully cut open with scissors, and stuffed with heavy, heavy rocks. The stitches would be crude– but that would be okay, it was going to fall down a…
Read MoreSolitude’s Delivery Man
Mr. Verd had always believed that fallen leaves were symbols of change. Where you found one shriveled skeleton, it could be ascertained that a youthful bud had emerged from the depths of a timeless slumber. When Autumn came, whistling melodies of foreshadowed snow, the man wished he could walk among boulevards of sunset showers, surrounded…
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