The Gleewoman's Notes

The word "cloud" is a poem, just like the clouds themselves are. I think they may be nearly impossible to gaze upon without resort...

Oh my dear, sweet readers! Some brave, sturdy clouds have at last made it through that great Ridge of High Pressure, and over the past two ...

I am a child of rain, a child of storm and fog and thunder and the smell of a wet road, a wet garden, and oh my, the wet forest—fir trunk, ...