Tassie Kazzoo

It was raining when I awoke, and continued through breakfast as I harassed that family again for a pan to boil some water in. I still never could tell whether the young boy Fergus was their son or grandson. It was time to leave the island. On the ferry back to the mainland I met …

A Drive with Roger

He was opening up, but I did not push him, aware as I was that people are not oysters requiring a stab and a twist to relinquish their juicy innards. Stories must be shared, not extracted, and through the art of conversation one shows one’s worthiness to Know