The light over the marsh was hesitant, resisting the day. Cereal bloated and pushed against the sides of the bowl. Later, rain would fall, pulsing onto rolled hay. We would feel there was something wrong. A deja vu of movement, pressed into the eye. We would take our dishes out of the cupboard and put them right into the dishwasher to save time. We wouldn’t know why we were crying.
find me
Recent Posts
- Do You Know Who I Am: On Writing and Identity April 17, 2015
- self-promotion, bookselling, blah blah blah April 16, 2015
- “I Wrote This Book Because…” – Myfanwy Collins and The Book of Laney April 1, 2015
- the bluff March 27, 2015
- pub day: today is my butter March 17, 2015
- arrival, gratitude February 27, 2015
- lesson February 16, 2015
- Tradition December 25, 2014
- I Wrote This Book Because… December 12, 2014
- here we are now December 8, 2014
myfanwy collins 