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Dianne over at In High Spirits gave me this and I apologize it's taken me this long to come up with a proper post. I'll start with seven blogs I recently discovered that you might enjoy, too.

1. Inksplattered
2. Weaving a Tale or Two
3. The Last Word
4. Paper Mountain
5. My Voice My View
6. Laughing Ferret
7. Isis Rushdan

As for the 7 posts, for now I think I'll just offer you one that I liked, to keep it short.

moving day

The sign was stark white, bleached and faded by the long summer, the grass beneath it dry and brown. It reminded him of a flag, the sort someone who wished to surrender might wave frantically at the approaching enemy.
   He would've liked to surrender, if such a thing was possible. He would've liked to say, thank-you, yes, I give up. Perhaps then someone would pull the knife from his chest.
   But it wasn't the house he would miss most. Eventually he would forget the pattern of the kitchen tiles and the loose board in the pantry. He would cease to wonder why they never changed the wallpaper in the dining room. The comforting creaks of the place would become a distant memory. All these things would cease to mean much given time.
   It was the barn.
   He had loved the barn.
   He had loved the way it smelled, of hay and oats and cow and manure. Sometimes he liked to step inside for no other reason than to smell the barn, breathing in the deep, rich fragrance of it. And sometimes he caught just a whiff of it walking by. It was a comforting smell, a familiar smell that said home.
   He loved the way it looked, both inside and out. The oldness of it, the way it had been made by the hands of his ancestors, the ripple in one particular row of shingles. Inside the long boards spoke of age and experience and the dust that lay over things he'd forgotten reminded him of how many before him had simply left a part of themselves behind, in the barn.
   The stalls were empty now, the line of cows a ghostly image in his mind's eye. Like the vision of himself hunched over a milk pail, just the two of them in the dark of the morning.
   If he could just grasp back one of those days, see one of those sleepy smiles again, feel the soft touch of a hand half the size of his own, just once more...
   He shook his head.
   It was done, he thought, pulling up the sign, turning away, closing his mind to the sight of the barn sitting there with the doors wide open and welcoming.
   He could not look at it without feeling his heart break.