Lately I've found that finding time to myself is as difficult as pulling a thread from the middle of a most intricately woven blanket. I'm needed there for the horizontal, vertical and diagnol patterns, I'm needed to complete the color scheme. I'd like to just be thread though. Just fibres. Just me.

There is something so beautifully fragile about this time of year. Walking to my car each night after work, I gaze at the brittle arms of trees frozen against the melting sky and wonder what they say.....what they say about my life.

Fairytale

What is yours?

Ghosts

Ever seen one? I believe in these things....