stjimmythe4th

   There was an ephemeral glow as the sun surrendered to the snow that evening, as though it had decided to give one final show as it left.  The light spread across the countryside painting the tips of trees as it soared over whitewashed landscapes.  It swept dangorously over cliffs and scoured the landscape disperseing at the far corners of the hoforizen.  Everything I saw was the sun and the sun was in everything.  It ended in an embelished display of orange, and purple, and yellow.  Playing tricks on the clouds before becoming pure clear light, then it was gone, but so was the snow.    Yes, the snow had been falling for as long as anyone

    A face in a diner, a stubble covered face, a sullen look, an unwashed smell: some men, they say, can't much stay put.  That's what they say "some men," an oddity, a break from the homogenous mixture of mens' thoughts.    That man you see on the side of the road at night, marching to a broken drum.  His steps, however are at a familiar tempo, a rhythm you've beaten out before: the heart of man is made to run.  Yes, we a ll feel it, the urge to just stop.  Drop everything.  Walk.  Stalk.  Smile.  Hum.  Stager.  Flee.  See.  Reach.  Touch.  But mostly just run.  That shadow on the side of the road, the ghost of your own ambitions the spect

    I am undertaken with unpleasantness as I sit to write this letter.  You see, my dear, I have a feeling my words will be taken the wrong way, it is therefore pertinant that you try to keep an open mind as you read this letter.    It is unfortunate that I must inform you, though I must indeed, that I have been lieing to you.  Yes my dear, my deception has become a blight on the otherwise golden pillar of perfection that I am.  I have, with some misgivings mind you, been lieing to you about whether I was truely a liar or not.  Alas, it is hard to bare this truth, though Iam obliged to. Do not doubt, m'lady; tis true, I have forsaken your s