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heidel

crum’s morsel (or a thing changing)

Crum went on about this place, lingering on its smells and secret footprint and whispers of rodentine residents as if it was a temple set in the lush forests of some distant land. Or maybe he saw it as a kind of Terabithia where dreams rose and fell like a restless tide from the sleep of the dead.

something easy to do during difficult times

“I will work tirelessly at making inroads towards the mastication of flesh.”

haerie stories to tell in the park

More than that, though, the trees grew up like the earth’s own thick hairs – unkempt, unfettered. Cattails like whiskers filled in the low areas. And from every direction, the rot of the earth’s flesh puckered his nostrils.

faerie stories to tell in the park

...no need to cause any trouble, no need to watch her only child wander off and whisper strange things with a strange woman.

coffee cups

from the collection of: d. heidel I like coffee cups.  The woman (rest her soul) who used to live here collected salt and pepper shakers.  We walked into the house on the first day that it was ours – empty,... Continue Reading →

on rough drafts

I will not mow the lawn. Not today.

to be an island

...an island that, itself, was here.

dogged

Who said that only animals are animated?

a stranger in a strange land

The world will forget these children.

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