Sheep. I'm Stuck In A Boarding School

The Wind Picks Up. It Sends Leaves Scurrying For Cover Until A Softer Breeze Blows Through, Settling Them Down Again As If To Say, Shhh, There, There, It's All Right. One Leaf Still Dances In The Air. It Spins Higher And Higher, Defying Gravity And Logic, Stretching For Something Just Out Of Reach. It Shall Have To Fall, Of Course. Eventually. But For Now, I Hold My Breath, Willing It To Keep Going, Taking Comfort In Its Struggle.

When I Dream, I Dream Of Him.

We Sit And Listen And Are Enthralled Anew, For Good Stories, It Seems, Never Lose Their Magic.

I’m Not Interested In Being Polite. It’s False.

My Dad Was A Presbyterian Minister. Yes, I Am One Of Those Dreaded P.k.s - Preachers Kids. Be Afraid.