Ecstasy And Vulnerability Belonged In

I Tend Not To Analyse My Work, Though I'm Frequently Intrigued When Other People Take Time To Do So.

How Massively The Mountains Stand, While Low To The Ground The Sand Blows. The Sand Blows On And On. And Then There Are No Mountains, None At All, The Sand Has Kissed And Whispered Them Away. And Still, The Sand Blows On.

Some Writers, Of Course, Simply Write, As They Feel They Are Driven To Do, By Outer/inner Inspirations. If, After The Work Is Written And, Hopefully, Published, Others Respond -- That Is The Champagne. But We, Or Some Of Us, Don't Write For The Champagne. We Write Because We Write.

I Like Writing About Women, Weak And Strong, Pathetic And Heroic. I Like Writing About Men, Ditto. And All The Variants Of Men And Women, Beasts And Demons.

Dawn Rose From The Desert And Turned The River To Wine.