What’s White, Cold and Lurks Around the Corner?



I was browsing through some of my older photos, and I stumbled upon these. At this point, I’m not really sure if I’m looking forward to this, or dreading it. Past experience is telling me to go with the latter. I am now going to enjoy the thirty degree heat while it lasts!

snowy pic



buried in snow

Handful of Flowers

Thought I’d take another go at the Fifty, a form of writing I’ve come to like. (A Fifty is a one shot story or poem, or what-have-you, that consists of fifty words, for those who did not know.) Hope you enjoy.


He walked, melancholy down the cracked grey sidewalks and empty streets, past bent and broken yield signs.

His eyes empty like that of a ghost, inside that tattered brown ensemble.

Walking as if he was invisible, and he was, to everyone but me. It was, the lily in his hand.