Inspired by the incomparable Jay Maisel, I set out to experiment with light, gesture and colour.
There is a flowering tree not far from our boat. 412 more words
Every few years, I re-read Till We Have Faces, the last novel written by C. S. Lewis, which was published in 1956.
Reading this tough, gritty novel lays me open and causes me to see my own heart clearly for a time, as cloaked pride and selfishness naturally arise there as part of my natural self. 1,093 more words
They say time heals. I say, they lie. Wounds remain. Only the scar left by the strength of time lessens the pain but the wounds remain.