Musings

Skyward: Memories of childhood become faded things. Sometimes the details escape us. So, we fill them in with our imagination.

I have a new found love for writing poetry despite adamantly declaring, "I'm not a poet," for years.

Memories, like ghosts, can haunt us.

I love the ocean. I revel in the sound of the waves sweeping to shore. The sound sometimes loud enough to drown out all others.

Silence is a muteness, an absence of sound, a stillness, something or someone fading to oblivion—and secrecy.

Becoming Ghosts ~ Autumn is Joie Lesin's favorite season. Perhaps there is beauty in decay.