Only five books tonight, Mommy," she says.
No, Olivia, just one."
How about four?"
Two."
Three."
Oh, all right, three. But that's it!

So much is yet to come. Soon will be blankets and pillows, and books by the bed to make the stuff of dreams. And then tomorrows.

It's a strange feeling to see one's books come up at auction and also, to some extent, a sign of my miserable early failings as an author.

Lots of children I know are excited to grow up. So I wonder why this man was so happy to become young again?

Toilet paper unrolled and slithered
then wrapped around my tummy.
That paper tried to roll me up
into an Egyptian mummy.

Bedtime stories
Eventide Rhapsodies
Anthologies of Memory
Please enter cautiously and feel free to open what is closed