Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
Thomas Bloom was a professor. Business. He was not remarkable looking, talking, feeling, or thinking. The only remarkableness about Tom was an enormous lack of remarkableness. Bored freshmen amused themselves by pretending this apparent unremarkability constituted a cover for a secret identity of intrigue. Only for amusement. Could they have entered his mind, they would… Continue reading A Love Story for Bloomsday
Thomas Bloom was a professor. Business. He was not remarkable looking, talking, feeling, or thinking. The only remarkableness about Tom was an enormous lack of remarkableness. Bored freshmen amused themselves by pretending this apparent unremarkability constituted a cover for a secret identity of intrigue. Only for amusement. Could they have entered his mind, they would… Continue reading A Love Story for Bloomsday
This is the time of the Wolf Moon, the time of year when food stores in traditional cultures are dwindling. This is when cold is probing its sharp fingers through iced windows. The nights are still long, but usually by the Wolf Moon the lengthening of daylight is perceivable.
By My Solitary Hearth 