A mere thirty-two miles north of my place lies a magic, tax funded, endorphin generator.
A mere thirty-two miles north of my place lies a magic, tax funded, endorphin generator.
When I have time to contemplate the mysteries of life, I wonder about the featherless birds.
Who put the sun in Sunday?
We were soon surrounded by fairy tale moss, shrinking into the forest like Alice in Wonderland.
Postscript to Turtle Time, in which I discover we’ve been seeing the same turtle for six years, not four.