The Traveller
All throughout shrewd sea winds courted us Gangs of raucous avians swim through the rain Loud aching cries of pain echo As the luminous sea fog erodes in skeins With the rising of watery suns Bluntly formless stone…
Tim Wood
I have written 14 books, working on my 15th and trying to get published. I am finally not just writing for myself.
Lest we forget Grandad’s dog, and other stories
I remember the feel of his fur, and can almost remember his smell. Standing next to him was amazing. He once stood up with me on his back. Grandma came racing over and took me off him, telling me Rex…