Of all Anne Blythe's children, Walter was always different, in some undefined, fey way. In humanity, there are different yarns that weave into a diverse weave, delicate, lace, and breakable in the winds of life.

The sensation of living music, is by it s nature ephemeral, fantastic, fleeing, and yet so incisively present.

Correspondence is a dance of souls, isn't it? What can a letter do, especially if it contains a request that has to be complied with?

Summer evenings on Prince Edward Island in June can be charming, as Kilmeny Gordon knew. This story is a description of an encounter, the power of music, and poetry.

Old Great Aunt Nancy lived at Priest Pond. It was a known fact, as was that the old Caroline was not wholly human. Nonsense, or was it? What secrets that house hid inside, and in its dim corridors. How to describe something for which there are no words? Or are there?