White as driven snow This Frosty won't melt away He is made of sand I'm grateful for: Warm winters Beaches with white, sugar-fine sand Gulf Coast snowmen No cold slush NaBloPloMo 14/30
Frosty the Sandman
Author: Tara R.
I believe all good fiction includes an element of truth, and all good photography includes an element of fantasy. In this journal I hope to give voice to the stories swirling around in my head, and to capture the images I see through my camera’s lens.
One is not a lonely number
I've always been a bit of a loner. I enjoy spending time with friends and family, but I also like being by myself. There's no one I have ask for a menu selection - I can eat when I want, what I want, how I want... straight out of the ice cream carton with a … Continue reading One is not a lonely number
Dead again
The story so far… Her voice sounded far away, tinny and surreal. Barlowe tried processing what she was saying, but his brain kept telling him this woman was batshit crazy. Pushing away from his desk, he locked the office door then sat beside Abigail, turning her chair so she was facing him. “Tell me everything.” … Continue reading Dead again
When pie is king
This Thanksgiving we will have an added visitor sharing dinner with us. My daughter’s beau is to be a honored guest. A unique situation for me, since this is the first time a swain has been invited to our family celebration. I do Thanksgiving up right. I start cooking early in the week, prepping what … Continue reading When pie is king
Beyond imagination
The story so far... Det. Jack Barlowe closed the email from the Galway Gardaí when his desk officer knocked on his office door. He waved the young man into the room. “Detective, you’ve got a visitor,” he said. Leaning on the door jamb, he whispered, “she’s hot.” “Thank you for coming downtown, Ms. Dolan.” Barlowe … Continue reading Beyond imagination
On the edge
I’m right here, right at the edge. Waiting for that little nudge, or shove, to push me over the last hurdle. Perched on the precipice of greatness or an abyss of endless regret. I’m poised to fall or fly, I just don’t know which it will be. Maybe I’ll stay here for a while longer. … Continue reading On the edge
Thin spiral notebook 