November 18, 2020

Geese-song in the sun behind me. Blood-rose riding the living air. Squirrel-alarm, upside down, from the neighbor’s tree.

Something roars in the distance. A long-held note. Too steady to be natural. Only Man makes things so static.

I ebb. I crescendo. I blaze like our wintering garden.

Please, let me be waking up.

Blog Stats

  • 175,338 hits
%d bloggers like this: