March Storms

“Blow ye winds! Crack your cheeks!” King Lear howls in his rain-swept exile. Welcome winter rains here in California give this exile—banished like Ovid to wander among the Sythians and drink only milk from lenient mares—little comfort save ending the drought: March soon brings me to 70 and closer to my mother, far from a different drought.Photomom.meFullSizeRender

Collection of Short Stories

Collection of Short Stories

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