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.