Life itself is never enough for me. It only becomes real and solid when I fashion it into stories. Words are a bountiful resource to be squandered. Think, discard, write, discard, mull over, discard. They never run out, never desert. They flow faithfully from hidden crevices in my mind, along my senses, down my arm and out the pen. And bring my world to roaring life.
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I love the Picture and the description as always, was spot on!