<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rdf:RDF xmlns="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"><channel rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/BlogRss.aspx/reflectionsonthewater"><title>Reflections on the Water: a collection of works - Blogit</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/</link><description>This is similar to a writers journal consisting of short stories, poetry and the progression of some first drafting of novels. The stories are entirely fictional, with no reflection on my reality or that of anyone I know.</description><sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod><sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency><sy:updateBase>2000-01-01T12:00+00:00</sy:updateBase><items><rdf:Seq><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/648486" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/647385" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/647111" /></rdf:Seq></items></channel><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/648486"><title>Freedom's Dark Wing: Prologue</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/648486</link><description>PROLOGUE: Lakiere watched in silence as her master fell before her. This time, she swore, this time they would not catch her again. She now knew they were finding her by tracing her magic. Even in the times when she became a dull witted nymph she would not use her magic, never again. No more...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/647385"><title>Buried in The Sand</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/647385</link><description>Katherine walked down the path to the beach, slipping her feet free of her sandals as she finally reached the sand that had begun to chill in the night air. She walked through the sand with the salt breeze teasing her hair into her eyes, not bothering to push it away. Beneath her feet the chill...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/647111"><title>The Bus Ride: A sad short story</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/reflectionsonthewater/647111</link><description>Kaiyla suppressed a yawn as she stared out the window. The strobe light mounted on the roof of the bus flashed in a broken beat and the images outside of her window passed like the pictures of a slide show. With them flashed the slideshow of her life, piece by piece. The house where her best...</description></item></rdf:RDF>