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Time flies

Time flies. Seasons overlap. Years vanish on the wind, like smoke from an untended fire. A year ago, as summer began, I started to write one last novel. The more things change...

One might still...


It's beginning to feel like summer here in Drovers Gap. Traffic is slower on Main Street with frequent halts for families of tourists and day-trippers crossing the street. There's music in the air and the air is getting warmer every day.

One might still a catch cool breeze down in the Glen. I need to put a bench down there so I can sit and read or write on a Sunday afternoon and listen to the sound of Ronan Darner's saxophone drifting up the hill from the Wild Leek Pub.