(Small Stone # 3)
He climbed across the parapet confidently, his agility belying his age. She followed, shy, hesitant, happy to out of the cold and lonely home, onto the open terrace, winds teasing her grey and thinning hair. Once more he will hoist the kite, tug and pull and shape it into soaring greatness; once more she will guide the thread spool, holding back and letting go, picking up and setting free, so he can touch the azure horizon.
(Small Stone # 2)
Frequently checking to see if there's a mail, tiny words of affection, a smile, a sigh, a feeling of being understood. Blogging again is a little bit like falling in love. No?