Project about my father’s 1945 letter given to me a while after his death,– an ordinary young soldier’s war-time wanderings, and occupations from late 1941.
Bulb which grows when cold – two spears protrude and elongate, – the year’s first noticeable growth from still, apparent death of winter's chill. A single stem extending soon,
Typing, tapping, click, click, Just a moment, in a tick all my story in my memory; safe and sound, easily found; but … there can be mistake when quick fingers flick,