PinnedMichelle MusesinArdorThe Guitar PlayerThe tune dances through tendrils of smog, drifts between shadows, and sighs over the streets with such beauty as pain permits.·1 min read·May 6, 2019--10--10
PinnedMichelle MusesinArdorShow Me a True PlaceIt is not down in any map; true places never are. — Herman Melville, Moby-Dick·1 min read·Apr 11, 2019--11--11
PinnedMichelle MusesinThe JunctionUpon a SunsetFast-falling dusk sweeps across the isle as the sun dips down the horizon, its last flare spilling over honey-tinged waters.·1 min read·Jan 10, 2019--18--18
Michelle MusesinArdorA Waltz of Wordsa short story about love, loss, and the power of books·9 min read·Nov 28, 2019--7--7
Michelle MusesinArdorThe Artist Who Never Used an EraserA friendship and betrayal that I will never forget·8 min read·Oct 28, 2019--12--12
Michelle MusesinArdorThe Rustling of AutumnMorning light pours over the patio in tendrils of honey whiskey. Dappled specks of sunlight adorn crimson leaves strewn over the lawn.·1 min read·Oct 18, 2019--6--6
Michelle MusesinArdorTidalPerhaps I will be moving on like the waves rushing towards the horizon,·1 min read·Oct 1, 2019--3--3
Michelle MusesinArdorNights Like TheseDusk falls and the city unfurls its secret self — a map unspooling under the wink of stars and streetlight.·1 min read·Sep 25, 2019--8--8
