It’s been cool and rainy for the past two weeks. When misty drizzles swell into weightier drops the birds desert our feeders. I feel sorry for them, worry about how they’re keeping dry.
Over the Christmas holidays Brian Carlin, an internet poet friend whose blog I follow, retreated to an island where he read an e-book form of Dream Theatres of the Soul. Shortly afterwards he published a few poems he called “Dream book 1” and “Dream book 2.”