Self-proclaimed coffee snob, bookworm, word-writer & most importantly Jesus-lover
::all work original::
Dropping off the coattails of the jet overhead, the trailing lines streak the blueness. The only color in the blank sky, broken again by wind-swept leaves. The sounds of nature blossomed as night fell, making the blue black again once more.
By L. C. May5 years ago in Longevity
