Butterflies

In the garden behind Cafe No. 8 all was quiet. There was the buzz of mid-morning insects inspecting their plants; leaves and blossoms thrilling to their attention. The clatter of the blind man’s stick came to me through the passage and he glanced vaguely in my direction as he seated himself at the adjoining table.
He [...]






About Writing:

You know that a blank wall is an appalling thing to look at. The wall of a museum, a canvas, a piece of film, or a guy sitting in front of a typewriter. Then, you start out to do something, that vague thing called creation. The beginning strikes awe within you. Edward Steichen

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