The Well of Mimir

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

My mother’s voice wavered as she began to read the poem aloud; her voice flowed thick from her throat but quick through her lips, slowly filling the room as her lungs found the air and with it strength.

Read the rest of this entry »

I realize there hasn’t been any content here in months. I must confess to having hit a dry spell, a slump, writer’s block — at least regarding shorts. When this changes, you’ll see content here. I may just need to refill the creative well.