She comes to me in dreams With eyes that hold the ocean And a voice that whispers on the wind so faintly... I cannot hear.
By Gabrielle McCain3 years ago in Poets
There it is: the bright orange tackle box. Full to the seams with hooks, weights, and all manner of crazy looking lures-- that gift from me, nearly two years ago now, has become the signal. He is going fishing.
By Gabrielle McCain3 years ago in Families