A writer and editor living in Florida. I love words, beaches, and cats.
Danny walked around the park, taking in the early spring day. The leaves were just starting to bud and the air smelled of fresh dirt. He’s had his head in his books so much lately that it felt like he was just coming out of a cave. It was good to be outside. After completing the loop around the pond, he sat on his favorite bench, the one that overlooked the water. He felt something underneath him and stood up again. A small black notebook, the kind he always imagined writers carried with them everywhere, sat on the bench.