The Sunday Whirl

by rugby843, posted in Uncategorized
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The scents of a candle burning down stirred her sleep and Julie stretched out her arms, nudged Dickinson off the edge of her bed and surveyed the large space she called a bedroom. The old writer’s desk by the arched window shown an unrelenting pile of papers and dictionaries and Julie observed them with a sigh. It seemed the words would not come and the magic was gone. Maybe it was a sign, an end to her career writing novels. Dickinson rubbed against her, asking for a hug and Julie looked into the cat’s face. Could this friendly companion sense that Julie’s writing had become ordinary, not worth editing even? She grabbed her up and went back to bed.

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Wordle 681

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