I have the start of a short story that I am calling "Sunday Ceasars" started and will be spending most of the next week working on a first full draft which I will share here for feedback.
In the meantime, I pulled the following short poem out of one of my notebooks the other day, written on a day hike to the Lake Agnes Tea House.
half way to the tea house she turns the trail
sorts her skeleton into a more stable
relationship and laughs the memory