1966 The eggs are as cold and flakey as the wooden table they are sitting on, the blueberry tea beside it just as stale. Yet in a vase that sits at the center, a few lively stems of lavender can be seen stretching upward. Hanging off the table’s edge is one of several notes strewn… Continue reading The Smell of Lavender
I write fiction stories and occasional screenplays, often about deep topics like food or circuses. Sometimes I add a frivolous touch about grief or love.
Sincerely, a bookworm. 