What Haunts Me
- A furry, bark colored creature who beckons to me with one, long, dark leather-skinned finger. (a scene from my work in progress)
- People with beautiful souls who lead tragic lives.
- Children singing almost anything, especially in harmony.
- The poetry of Edgar Allan Poe, read aloud.
- Icicles hanging from the bare branches of a tree.
- The silence of snowfall.
- Kissing the cheek of a chubby baby.
- Whole-hearted, pee-your-pants laughter.
- Being left alone in the cold and the dark.
- The flame of a candle, blazing logs on a campfire, the glow from a lantern.
- The brave little heart of my three legged dog. R.I.P., Doc.
- The clean corners at the ceiling of a room.
- The smell of sawdust.
- Sitting like a giant limp tea bag in a tub of hot water.
- Anyone’s death. Thank you, John Donne.
One for every year of the 21st Century.