February 12, 2012 @ 8:36 pm | Filed under: Assorted and Sundry
Do I thrill at the sight of green spikes poking up from the soil because I read The Secret Garden so many times, growing up? Or did I read it so many times because it put into words the thrill I felt in my mother’s garden?
The sun was shining on the sea
Sometimes It Rains
Still catching up.
In a blink, August disappears.