The growing pains of giving up a childhood passion is often a common casualty of coming into adulthood. From age three into high school, I was the “ballet kid.” Ballet...
culture
A writer naturally befriends other writers. Goes with the territory. Personally, I always enjoy these relationships. Share a little, learn a lot. I can’t recall feeling challenged by others who write.
Four mud-sculpture statues with expressionist faces of clay – one male, three female. Full lips. Wide-open demonstrative eyes; their gaze frozen. All hankering to speak out. But they cannot.
We are stranded. Lost in time. Between a future then and a present now. Limited sensory perception. No ESP. Real or imagined. Faces flash by. Expressions in flux. Memories scrambled.