http://slow.writerscafe.org/Alison52 The original writings of author Marion A Sadler en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775996802 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 his large frame splays out in the swivel chairas his captive audience looks and listensin a trance like state of miserable boredom the hotel lobby is quietpotted palms droop in the cornerartificial magnolias grace the windowswhile he potificates he leans back tilting th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alison52/494360/ Puck, on a cool August night watchesthe soft flutter of Lunas' wingsbrushing softly against the dusk,listens to the symphony of the streamfrom crickets resined bows.In eager anticipation he waitsfor the bass boom of frogs,the timpanin of a night hawk's trillthe soft oboes of the whip.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alison52/494352/ On the grey concreteto the rightof the centre line Crows,eating carrionfill their placein life's design. Cars swerve to avoidthe scavengers,ironic,at least one hit the rabbit. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alison52/494350/ Spruce treesdressed in white tutusfrozen pirouettessparklingunder bright winter sun. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alison52/494347/ " We'll cross that bridgewhen we come to it.' The maelstrom increasessucking me into the voidwhirling faster and fasterBridge after Bridgecrossed and destroyed. Leaving help and support behindthe whirlwind spins faster and fasterthe dance becomes impossible to follow.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alison52/484991/ Zeus and Heradisagreed one night.He flung lightning bolts;She screeched thunder,They both spat rain. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alison52/484989/ lost in time and crumbled granitegraves of my grandfathersancient to even them generations marching backwardsto the mists of the beginningbefore centuries intruded what small thread of DNAremains of those ancient ancestorswhat part of them me; me them staring i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alison52/484985/ Ah,the smell of burning leaveson a chilly November daylast chore of fallsending up a haze of smoke wafting on a gentle windrain begins to fallthe burn now wet goes out.We head for the house and hearthtis time to stoke the fireplace,blow the flame of fragrant apple logssettle with.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Alison52/480106/