Eyes down, her shawl wrapped protectively against the brisk morning cold around her head, she walked with quick steps. As her breathing got heavier, she decided to look up. Scraggly tree branches–the kind that cheesy horror cartoons would depict as reaching out to grab you–reached up instead toward the moon as if in worship.

I have the utmost respect for people who have day jobs and still manage to write or read beautiful prose or poetry.

I think that’ll be a resolution for me: to MAKE TIME for literature.


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