"Explain again how you came to have access to this...cabin?" Chanti said. She had claimed the spot closest to the fire place and had her sketchbook open across her knees. Her nose was already smeared with charcoal, and in her ragged sweater and tear-hem skirt she almost looked like a Dickensian orphan.

Shaylee, in an effort to score some of the warmth, was sitting at Chanti's feet wrapped in an afghan Dani had crocheted. Mona was tucked in beside her, eyes closed while…

I wrote this poem a couple of years ago on a full moon night, and last night the full moon was so beautiful it reminded me of what I'd written but never shared.  At the time I was crushing on a playwright.

Don't mock.

We all make mistakes.

It goes like this:

O sweet playwright,

Write me a handful of jewels

That I might cast…

(This was my 750 words post from yesterday that I thought makes a nice little piece right on it's own, although I am tempted to expand)

"Let me guess you lost track of time again."

Arthur's words stung and Casey dropped his gaze because he knew he wouldn't be able to stand the harsh judgment in his friend's face. He already felt horrible about it, about leaving him at the restaurant. And it probably didn't look good when he answered the door with his paint…

Note: I have a muse in my head, and am slowly building a universe around him. I am not sure if it will go any farther, but I like this piece I wrote today, so I thought I would share.

It was muffled and seeming far away but…