Fiddleeebod

Prindelilah Hastings never was in sight. She hid all day under hay and crept out in the night. She always carried a jar of tar and a stick with which to write, ‘Prindelilah Hastings was here! Oh yes! That’s right!’

Once a long time ago this happened. A family of owls gathered in the hollow of a tree to wait out a winter storm. This particular winter storm had been raging for seven years without pause, after having imprisoned spring, summer, and autumn in a copper globe at the bottom of the sea. Although icy […]

When tilted away from the sun Up north we have lots of fun We dance in the dark And lark in the park Until, exhausted, we’re done