23 Sep 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

09/23 Mont Saint Michel, France

At the breakfast table there were rumors of another train strike, so about six of us headed out early to attempt to board the last train prior to any stoppage.  Our destination was Mont-St-Michel.  When the island first came within view I stood there for some time and gazed at its glory.  It had more a look of a cover to a picture book than something actually real, a castle right out of some fairytale.  There were endless fields of mud waiting for the imprint of somebody’s foot. (more…)

23 Sep 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments

Poem 063 She was but a child of the wind

She was but a child of the wind, free to play in the leaves, time was hers, life was pretend, a forest from the trees
she’d run along the river’s edge with her imaginary friends, the days were long and the current strong,
and they never seemed to end

See’s only what she wants to see, cares not about the pain, nothin ever changes, in the eyes of the estranged

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