a wind turned to cold
the sound of tumbling pebbles
washed up on the shore
pebbles
Published
a wind turned to cold
the sound of tumbling pebbles
washed up on the shore
I dream so I write ..
“Wings are an illusive notion. Some may possess them, but they are not very visible, and as for me, there isn’t the least sign of a feather.” -Amy Carmichael
New Ideas, New Forms
Musings from an insignificant writer
14 hectares of thrills, spills and fun!
A Journal of Poetic Observations
Pictures and Poetry, Picture Poetry
My Journey on the Lonely Road to Deaf Acceptance
Ellen Grace Olinger
My Eccentric Friend 