Great
Where oh where Lord, are these great things?
Where oh where Lord, are these great things?
The blue jays we were ignoring are more striking birds.
I reach quasi Tour de France hill climb status.
I’ve started considering that there’s more to the idea than just talking to flight agents and snapping at my husband.
“You’re Koster’s sister, right? Why aren’t you a ginger?”
This is not a ministry to the lost.
Apparently, the past was attractive.
The song was my fix. But fixes only last so long.
I’ve always yearned for clarity.
“Does the basement bedroom still hold the amber scent of pipe smoke?”