10,79 €
11,99 €
-10% with code: EXTRA
Walking On Angels
Walking On Angels
10,79 €
11,99 €
  • We will send in 10–14 business days.
I grew up on the coastal plains of Texas. Clouds were an important part of my childhood. Flat on my back in the thick St. Augustine grass, the clouds stood still as I drifted past them. Odd faces appeared and then magically morphed into dolphins or fast cars. As the third of eight kids, one of my favorite middle-child games was to step back, lift my arm, then frame a sibling's head between my fingers. With no effort at all I could squeeze that pitiful nugget into submission. When I wasn't squas…
  • SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA

Walking On Angels (e-book) (used book) | Chuck Bulot | bookbook.eu

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I grew up on the coastal plains of Texas. Clouds were an important part of my childhood. Flat on my back in the thick St. Augustine grass, the clouds stood still as I drifted past them. Odd faces appeared and then magically morphed into dolphins or fast cars. As the third of eight kids, one of my favorite middle-child games was to step back, lift my arm, then frame a sibling's head between my fingers. With no effort at all I could squeeze that pitiful nugget into submission. When I wasn't squashing heads, I was building cities in the dirt next to the house. Or hiding behind the oleanders in the corner of our back yard. It was my private fort, where I was protected by magical flower powers ... where I tied notes onto the tails of dragonflies with thread to send a message to God. I waited to get a return letter dropped special delivery from the sky. I am still waiting.

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10,79 €
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I grew up on the coastal plains of Texas. Clouds were an important part of my childhood. Flat on my back in the thick St. Augustine grass, the clouds stood still as I drifted past them. Odd faces appeared and then magically morphed into dolphins or fast cars. As the third of eight kids, one of my favorite middle-child games was to step back, lift my arm, then frame a sibling's head between my fingers. With no effort at all I could squeeze that pitiful nugget into submission. When I wasn't squashing heads, I was building cities in the dirt next to the house. Or hiding behind the oleanders in the corner of our back yard. It was my private fort, where I was protected by magical flower powers ... where I tied notes onto the tails of dragonflies with thread to send a message to God. I waited to get a return letter dropped special delivery from the sky. I am still waiting.

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