Burning Bush Stony Ground

The Art ThingGibraltar 1947It is a scorching day in August, the Sun at its highest. It is the day when I catch the first conscious glimpse of that which lays claim to vacant possession of the interior of my cranium for the coming sixty seven years and counting. I am twelve years of age.Sweaty and aglow, I am pelting down Lopezs Ramp towards home in Devils Gap Steps after an exhilarating scamper ...