I wrote this poem about honeysuckles as they grew outside my parents house when I was growing up.

A light and cheery writing about the little things in life and how very important they are!

Our hearts speak a language.

Her love is open.

If not for the note left on her desk earlier that day, the night could be perfect, but now it has become something else. Something called murder. It was a perfect night for this. She knew it…

Another writing challenge for myself today using three words: freedom, lace, and honeysuckle.

Despite signs of autumn in the air, it is still so peaceful and relaxing to sit out of doors.

Summer time means different things to each of us. This is my feelings of summer.

A poignant tale of lost love.