For I am a peddler of words lost in space and time filling in gaps of insignificance to outright the inconceivable.
When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can. ~Samuel Lover, Handy Andy, 1842
Monday, May 13, 2013
Of Sunsets and By the Beach Mementos
Succumbing to nature's ingenuity
while the heavens declare its glory.
Let the waves bind what can not be seen,
Let the mighty sun bring your searching soul to peace.
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