I lifted my head and looked upwards. Clouds of all shapes and sizes were congregating; showing entryways for nuances of light-grey and dark-grey and grey-grey all over the sky. And soon, towards me, a mizzling came tumbling down. And I let it. Droplets tinkled on my face in explosions of fertility, and the sound of…
Short poem on the pain of loss
Short note on pleonasm, and easy exercise to check understanding.
Learn something new about prose in a short time
Victor Verdun is fifty years old. He sits at his desk, thinking and despondent.
Astounding news!! And many more developments to come.
For my brother