I was washing my hands and about to move to the blow drier when a woman burst into the restroom. I stopped in my tracks and stared. She was dressed in cords and carried a large canvas type bag. She had a hat covered in flowers with a tiny American flag stuck in the band.
‘Tis the season to be quite jolly, rather merry and to take a break from the writing life. But then, there’s that itch at the end of one’s fingers, a keyboard tapping away by itself at midnight, or the pages of one’s journal aching to be filled and satisfied.
By Ivor Steven Time Needs No Command The white moon has fallen lateA new daytime awaitsRollover out of dream timeRollover to the edge of timeLeave midnight’s caressing lullabyAnd discover the blue curtain sky It’s time to stretch and yawnIt’s time … Continued