We glanced nervously at the dark clouds as the biting wind tugged at our jackets...

I believe that I will never forget Bivouac...

 The darkness engulfed his every thought as he sat on a cold, stone bench...

The sunlight sloughs off the water like runny makeup in many shades...

Charlotte had a soothing voice. Or, at least, that’s what everyone told her back at Civilization...

The sky was to be heaven and the earth a temporary restin’ spot for the soul...

he holds a small box with a tightly closed lid...

Fifteen years, seven months and twenty-one days ago, a rabbit-headed blanket was first opened from within yellow tissue paper...

The disappointment in writing prose can be guessed by subtracting a work’s real quality from that perceived upon completion, then assigning a rank between one and ten...