power of h Weblog

Father heard someone outside. We went out to see what was there. It was a lone airplane. Lost in the sky.

The snap of the flames. The crackle of the wood. A branch breaks. In the darkness…

by David Halliday

They hover like moths around a candle. Afraid to get to close. Afraid to get burnt. But that is the only way to appreciate art. And they refuse.

And I sank down into the blue. And let myself drift through the cool stream. My feathers slipping away.

I love work that has stories in them. Makes for hours of speculation, stories made up in  your own head. Sandra Flood

by David Halliday

by David Halliday