feel the wind on your face, in your hair …
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All articles filed in writing
transience
one day, buds
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in the blackout
the feeling lingers on
i had the dream again last night
the one where you come sit beside me
and we are silent together, never speaking
on the brink of golden hour
this evening on the brink of golden hour i trekked up the hill to the library noting, as i passed, the progress of spring after days of hiding demurely behind green leaves the neighbour’s pear tree has had a revelation erupting in a riot of white blossoms and the star magnolia at the top of…
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the evening after
late nights with fast reads devoured in one installment … now my eyelids drop
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saturday haiku
jonquils, gold finches
lazy outdoor afternoons
barefoot days at last
andrew wyeth
he always makes me think of the bones of the worldwith those flat planes and cold coloursa sense of seeing the underneath of thingsover our mantle hangsa print of pennsylvania landscapea huge sycamore in the foregroundsprawls naked across the whitened skydwarfing the farmhouse down the hillin the valley below the river glints brightagainst the russeting…
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the wood between the worlds
it was raining this morning the sort of slow, gentle soaker that requires windshield wipers and raincoats and encourages the grass to green but when i left the office in the blueing evening only one lonely puddle remained in the empty parking lot as i walked toward my car i caught a glimpse of tree…
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april, come she is
april, come she is
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