Category: Stories & Poetry
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Only later did I learn that dedicated tram enthusiasts have a name for travelling around just to see them: tram bashing.
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chalk‑dust light on our sleeves — fell in a cold so sharp it silenced everything,
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We walked toward the tram stop, the cold settling into our coats, snow gathering on our sleeves.
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I suggested we could wait for another. My friend laughed, took my arm, pulled me forward into the crush.
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… it was a moment of recognition—the sense that something important had happened here long before I arrived.
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A traveler climbs a steep mountain, discovers quiet magic, and learns that true bravery lies within.
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With dots on her dress and stripes on her feet, Lottie B’s rhythm is playful and sweet.
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This is the post where Welsh finally enters the blog, carried in by daisies, my daughter, granddaughter, and one wandering frog called Bili’r Brôga.
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In the small warm room the clock kept its island time — tick, tide, tick.
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Tonight, the candle keeps its gentle vigil, burning for two, though only I sit near.
