The clouds are dragon tongues, painted Nordic boats and they blow me back to Scotland, to the fall, to shrill winds and leafless trees, to the comfort of wool and soup, smoked fish, and sleep. Now the shrubs are shriveled,… Read More ›

The clouds are dragon tongues, painted Nordic boats and they blow me back to Scotland, to the fall, to shrill winds and leafless trees, to the comfort of wool and soup, smoked fish, and sleep. Now the shrubs are shriveled,… Read More ›