As you walk home the warm wind whips your face, the clouds race above. You turn a corner, your boots slides slightly over the damp sand they pour after laying down the cobblestones. At the same time, the first fat drop of rain hits your nose. Thunder booms in the distance, and the day becomes darker. You walk faster, almost tripping over the cobblestones that hasn’t settled yet. They have been waiting for the rain to fill up the cracks with sand and even out the odd stone out
about a fleeting ripple
This is a place to share what I have been writing or thinking about lately, which is mostly about fountain pens and books.