I wrote the following poem when I was 8 years old: Where do the leaves go when it gets cold? And how come Grandpa is very old? Why, when I stand on a ladder so high I still can’t reach to the sky, though I try? I’ll put all my questions into a box And …
The Cricket Pages
Where Westport meets the world
The Future Lives Here
Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
Personal Essays - It's All About Curiosity & Connection
Terrible Writing on the Web. And Writing Terribly Well for the Web
Interesting Thoughts to Ponder........
Another voice in the interweb wilderness
Some of these thoughts may make sense. But don't count on it.
