He didn't handle perspective well but he could see the house in the distance, at the end of the long avenue of trees, trees that leaned over and engulfed him. It wasn't called witchy lane for nothing, he thought, unsure, eyes darting, then crunch, the house, damn, miniature. Photo source:


Every morning when I wake up, I will see something, hear something, read something, smell something, feel something, remember someone. My first impulse is to call him on the phone. He was an early riser, lived alone and by nine o'clock he was in his garden, trimming something, cutting back, replanting. In the summer it…Read more HAPPY BIRTHDAY