top of page

A Girl from Rivendale

As I sit on the end of the dock, sea salt drying on my legs, I hear my sister laughing. With the unhindered fascination of childhood, she watches crabs scuttle under the pier. My eyes focus on the horizon. There is not a ship in sight. Clouds are building, teasing a rain that late spring rarely brings. There is a hint of change on the briny breeze. A shiver runs down my spine. The source of the strange sensation is just out of sight, shrouded by the grey haze where water meets sky. Something is coming.

Featured Posts
Recent Posts
Search By Tags
Follow Us
  • Facebook Classic
  • Pinterest Social Icon
bottom of page