Inner musings of a Wayward Writer
The pale bark peels away from the tree trunk in long, narrow strips. Small fragments of the papery substance begin to fall. Collected by the wind, they’re carried away, rising up and down like wings as they flutter between branches. They begin to circle one another. As one rises, the others follow, twirling around each …
Time stands still when it rains in the forest. All the birds quickly hide within the shelter of the trees. Even the insects seem to have vanished into their unseen burrows. But that constant rain continues to wash over the trees and soak deep down into the earth, feeding the roots that reach out through …
Writing on Tangents