It seems a long time ago--although it's been only two weeks--since I bid goodbye to my baby brother and his family as they headed from Philadelphia to Halifax, Nova Scotia, for the last leg of their summer vacation from Florida.

My 9-year-old niece now shudders in disgust at the mere mention of her first crush, Justin Bieber. Her current obsession is Rocky Balboa. I had my first ice cream of the season--a Neapolitan sandwich--as she posed with a plaster statue of The Man. Later, she ran up all the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum, lifting her fists in victory. (Auntie followed at a more sedate aka "Burgess Meredith" pace.)

"Rocky," my niece growled, "if you wanna win, you gotta work harder than you ever worked before." "Rocky!" I growled in assent.

The only book I read during this brief vacation was The Girl on the Train. It would make things neat to say that I perused Paula Hawkins's bestselling psychological thriller on my trip to and from Rocky's city via Amtrak, as I daydreamed about the owners of the houses I glimpsed through the train window. But no--I read it late in the evenings, when fears and shadows lengthen. (See my review of TGOTT in my feed.)

Since my last blog post, I've also published a vegan-influenced flash fiction, "Agnes Dei," in The Drowning Gull, and a poem about madness and revival, "Morning Glory," on VerseWrights.

Here are the links:

https://thedrowninggull.wordpress.com...

www.versewrights.com/

Next, on to soft ice cream and gelato...