Tag: Writing

Early Chill

The sun is dull today, grey clouds and a cold, cold rain. Thrushes scatter from tree to tree…scolding me. Witch hazel fades to orange, then red. Oak leaves are starved skeletons and thistles appear as brittle, brown tubes. The spring with its wild water,…

The Walk

She walks the old road, its surface malleable, as dirt reclaims its path. Once a smoothness exited, now gone, curves vanishing, the wind, indeterminant. Her bones feel like prisms, sharp angles, poking out of moving flesh, legs move with assuredness, tenderness. The road has soft…

Warmth

The coolness of the air. Our fragile, brittle breaths. Warmth is a supple sound Moving through fallen leaves.

Fishing

  The fireman walks down to the dock, where the fisherman adjusts his line every few minutes. I see the fireman asking the fisherman questions. The fireman seems concerned, looking towards me as he talks. You see, I’ve been taking photos of the firehouse,…

Warrior Rock Light

  The river is high for winter, but it’s still the water I know, its muddy banks, dirty shore, lucid waves. Swollen, I can’t follow it to the lighthouse. I cut through brambles, to the trail, stepping on spongy flora forming a false carpet,…

Shade

       

Mary Shelley

Remnants of the past…embedded. Curled inside chalky lava flows Stuck to a shape…ripples in stone. Only elements change its appearance.   I and everything wait for the rain. The parched flowers and grasses Fragile skin, stalks, browns and beiges. Bloomed full, so easily, last…

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