Midnight, eight exceptional souls in the deep warm ink.
Floating.
Quarter moon, the black and muted grays of an endless horizon.
Tears of laughter mix with lake water, witness to the bizzare shadow puppets of the blind.
"Did you see that shooting star?" I asked.
" I did" she said.
'Be sure to make a wish darling."
" I already have and it has already came true."
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
blackberry morning
Blackberry morning,
soothing breeze,
my young dog barking at a turtle found in the thicket,
song sparrows singing,
a big gray mockingbird carrying on cheefully.
Deep purple and red fruit mingled in with green and greener,
the prickle of briars snagged in the fabric of an old shirt,
fingers stained deep magenta,
the bite of a berry not quite ripened,
strolling home in the warm June sun......
soothing breeze,
my young dog barking at a turtle found in the thicket,
song sparrows singing,
a big gray mockingbird carrying on cheefully.
Deep purple and red fruit mingled in with green and greener,
the prickle of briars snagged in the fabric of an old shirt,
fingers stained deep magenta,
the bite of a berry not quite ripened,
strolling home in the warm June sun......
fourth of july
The peacock always sleeps facing the east. Tonight he will turn westward on his perch in the mullberry and watching the souhtwest horizon, he will call out as fireworks glow and crackle....his blues and greens illuminated against the night sky as he turns his head in astonishment. In the morning, he will be facing the east, greeting the new sun, with his memories, but no story to tell.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
repose
Alabaster feminine esscence aglow and repose on a copper sofa.
Late afternoon light illuminating words passed about 'neath a spinning ceiling fan.
"If joy had a color, what color do you think it would be?"
"Orange" she said.
And I agreed "yes, golden like the late day sun."
Late afternoon light illuminating words passed about 'neath a spinning ceiling fan.
"If joy had a color, what color do you think it would be?"
"Orange" she said.
And I agreed "yes, golden like the late day sun."
fade
Back porch, rocking chair. Mother hen and chick moving stealthily over moss and through silk grass, one last meal before nights retreat. The cicada's growling din fades just as the days light, and gives way to the katydid's whirrrrr and the grateful chirp of missed crickets.
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