Quiet Lakes Wisconsin
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Escape . to the beauty of the Quiet Lakes - three sparkling gems set deep in the unspoiled wilderness of the Chequamegon National Forest and blessed with a 10 MPH speed limit no motor size limit prohibiting waterskiing, unique to the Midwest and the Hayward, Wisconsin Area Lost Land Lake Teal Lake Ghost Lake. Wednesday, June 29, 2005. Posted by Pat Jones 433 PM. Hookerware - t-shirts, hats, sweaters, sweatshirts, glasses and mugs all carry the famous logo. Posted by Pat Jones 424 PM.CONTENT
This web page quietlakes.blogspot.com states the following, "to the beauty of the Quiet Lakes - three sparkling gems set deep in the unspoiled wilderness of the Chequamegon National Forest and blessed with a 10 MPH speed limit no motor size limit prohibiting waterskiing, unique to the Midwest and the Hayward, Wisconsin Area Lost Land Lake Teal Lake Ghost Lake." We saw that the webpage said " Wednesday, June 29, 2005." It also said " Posted by Pat Jones 433 PM. Hookerware - t-shirts, hats, sweaters, sweatshirts, glasses and mugs all carry the famous logo. Posted by Pat Jones 424 PM."SEEK SIMILAR DOMAINS
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Lost Land, Teal and Ghost Lakes Blog Site. Friday, March 13, 2015. Ice Caves Pictures from Donna Nickel. Included are photos I took by aiming my camera toward the lake bottom. Posted by Lost Land, Teal and Ghost Lakes Blog. Tuesday, March 3, 2015. Appears to be a cross between a snow dog and a platypus. Posted by Lost Land, Teal and Ghost Lakes Blog.
Joan of Arc and The Litter Box. Joan Of Arc and The Litter Box. Today would mark the anniversary of the day Mummy and Abang rescued me. Yes, out the four of us felines that live here, 3 of us were rescued. Was rescued from the nearby McDonalds after Mummy got a tip that a black and white kitten was seen there. He had all kinds of slimy things crawling in his ears and on his face then. I was rescuedok! I do it again.
Deviant since Jan 24, 2009.
I let the words die on my finger tips for days, weeks, months, years; failed attempts to staunch the bleeding, to curb the sentences and story lines that ripped through my skin in the small hours of early morning wounds opened, reopened until I no longer recognized the person staring back at me from the page. Eight cups of coffee measure my day. What will I use to measure the night? Lines, pages, piles. I am the silence in between.