I love the slow character building as you continue to weave newcomers in with the old . The pale yellow house acts like a sculpture’s lump of clay. It takes in that which makes it stronger.
More characters ‘molded’ in as the story shapes and forms.
“There are so many deep truths in the world that can never be said, never be explained, they can only ever be felt and known. “
Your writing, always a pleasure to read .
In this; “ entertaining snow globe of words”.
(Only a father can flit in and out of the mundane conversations surrounding shopping…)
I hear the murmuration of memories zooming through the pale yellowish house, and see the chalk-dust, of running shoes treading on what's true in 'the me' in you, obscure feelings that couldn't be felt before.
Good writing, Jonathan. I do wonder at the paralleling of these two story lines. One, about the once famous singer and the other about shopping with someone who doesn't like shopping. Can you explain the connection? Sometimes I am slow on the uptake. Thanks Wes
I love the slow character building as you continue to weave newcomers in with the old . The pale yellow house acts like a sculpture’s lump of clay. It takes in that which makes it stronger.
More characters ‘molded’ in as the story shapes and forms.
“There are so many deep truths in the world that can never be said, never be explained, they can only ever be felt and known. “
Your writing, always a pleasure to read .
In this; “ entertaining snow globe of words”.
(Only a father can flit in and out of the mundane conversations surrounding shopping…)
I hear the murmuration of memories zooming through the pale yellowish house, and see the chalk-dust, of running shoes treading on what's true in 'the me' in you, obscure feelings that couldn't be felt before.
Good writing, Jonathan. I do wonder at the paralleling of these two story lines. One, about the once famous singer and the other about shopping with someone who doesn't like shopping. Can you explain the connection? Sometimes I am slow on the uptake. Thanks Wes