Just writing stuff down I guess.
Snow tipped Appalachian trees call every year. The blinding sunlight bouncing back on my face and the harsh cold air are just forgotten with distance traveled. Just love, silence, and wonder register for the day.
By William Boomer2 years ago in Fiction
There’s a river far away As water crashes on rock, I hear it call my name I hope to throw another stone in the current someday
By William Boomer4 years ago in Poets
