rask_balavoine
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My stories
Vincent in the bush.
Vincent, a Belgian Jesuit, used to visit our family from time to time, calling on his way to or from somewhere interesting, for food, a bed and news...
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- 16 reads
Dread December.
I can sense dread December about to roll in, and you can too I suspect. In rolling in it will obnubilate the soft November memories that I’m...
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- 45 reads
Lying in Lissadell.
There's an old log that lies rotting on the shore at Lissadell, right where the shingle meets the fields. It's lain there for as long as I've been...
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- 50 reads
November graveyard with a robin.
The sun shone on the snow-covered graveyard this afternoon, a place where the atmosphere was heavy with memories, sadness, longing and hope. Beside...
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- 93 reads
My spot.
A man with unruly blond hair and a ginger beard was sitting in my spot when I entered the cafe today. Moreover, the lout had his feet up on the seat...
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- 59 reads