The water came wave by rolling wave to take our love thus written into the endless sea for always.
Shore to shore
My inner clod
I have to say, my inner clod did a grand job with the dusting. Pity about the feet of clay.
Lucky Number Seven
I am reminded, as I take my first sip, of the cellar at the Grand Hotel in Grahamstown (in South Africa; the country, not the region, which, by the way, inhabitants refer to as Southern Africa). For those who do not know, this treasure of wines, under low wooden-beam ceilings of various heights which leads... Continue Reading →
That elusive pair of jeans 