Muses Stories

Down the middle are white birds flying against the hard, black sea. They fly past me, almost through me, and thin sun beams follow quickly past. The end of the sky is met with gray ashes that run down the seams keeping the whole scene together. A rumble u...

fuzzy1954

29 Jan 2013

Rain

As I sit with my tea

when rain comes in January on the plainsI sit with my favorite teareflect on my past you may say on past deeds this humble soul the good the funny and yes the badwith the cold wind from the northand place another log on the firewatching the flames dance a...