Collie tapped me on the wrist again. This time, he was a little more persistent; I was fast asleep.
“Beautiful,” I said.
“Nothing.” Pulling my feet out of a dream, gauzy mud. 334 more words
And so, legend says, one cold night the boy sat down at his bedroom desk to write his way through that labyrinth of mystery. There was an empty composition notebook and he opened it before him to begin writing the state of his perusals, composing into language the likeness of his whirling mental tapestries. 340 more words