Originally posted on O at the Edges:
? Firewood For two years the oak loomed, leafless. We had aged together, but somehow I survived the drought and ice storms, the regret and wilt, the explosions within, and it did not. I do not know the rituals of trees, how they mourn a passing, or…
Tag: awareness
Skirt, The Issue: A Moment to Address the Headdress
I go out with the regalia I’ve earned – usually, a pen and book of some sort, because I’m a writer. I know that having the pen and book doesn’t make me a writer; using them does.
Got Kryptonite?
If I write an Aboriginal spy novel, they will poison each other with milk.
