There’s this dusty sunshine in my attic. It is soft around the edges and has a worn, warm look about it. I feel the world slow its turning to match the graceful pirouette of what looks like a cloud of memories gently glinting and turning in the shaft of light. Memories. Long shadows drawn across …
I remember the girls of my summersas if she were held together with butterfly glue,the one who taught me that sandy beaches make salty kissesThe one that ran like wild horsesin the hard packed sandat the edge of the surfuntil I staggered to a haltheart fluttering against my chest like a scared caged birdhands on …
That momentwhen the bell ringsand you’re freeso for the first time since morningI have the sun on my backand my feet on the groundwhen the purr of an engineturns my eyes and my mind skywardcatching the tail of atiny silver bird dragging my focusbehind it like a balloon on a stringas it lumbers away from …
I walk in my winter wood at duskAs the sun gathers up its last rays of the dayLeaving the warm air heavy with mistLong tendrils curling up from the earthAnd winding through the trees,Climbing toward the newly darkened skySpreading through limbs and across pathsDulling the moonlight to grey where it lands around meSilver light glancing …
The crowd pressing together like flower petals lodged in a closing book long impatient lines filled with anticipation writhe across the slow-moving traffic air thick with caramel smell, leaving your skin as sticky as a cotton candy bath fresh-squeezed lemonade running down your throat and down your back as the thickly-woven throng jostles its way …
I forgot to pull the lever to wash away my fever as they handed me the cleaver so I thought that I would die fry cry sigh like the wind crowding through a lonesome tree that’s free and wants to be uprooted polluted convoluted like the trail of a snail in a crooked shell that’s …
Snow fills the air and blankets the ground, blankets the hound, the home, the piles of round logs waiting to warm us, ready to be fed to the fire, fodder for the heady warmth seeping into our clothes, our hands, our cherry faces; those snow-packed gloves, scarves, coats leaking water on the hearth. Piney scents …
A really “blue” day.