soft petals coarse leaves like sunbursts from a stem bold flowers clustered like friends reaching for the light in lazy summer heat and baked clay dirt the muddy backdrop of their triumph.
Thunderheads, a layer of paint on the sky’s canvas, are thick and unbroken. Like a handpainted bowl, the clouds are stripes around the horizon. The rich colors are the sloppy mixing of paints on a palette: bluestone to periwinkle, mauve to rose, all shot through with gold. The faintest white puffs float down to encircle… Continue reading Day 113: Springtime Stormy Sunset
Violetta hated taking the train. It was loud and dirty, clattering down tracks assailed by graffiti and cigarette smoke- the detritus of city living. Looking out the window made her sick; looking at the passengers made her nervous; looking at the old advertisements and the crummy benches made her skin crawl. The idea of the… Continue reading Day 89: The Train
Panic tightens your chest. You can taste it in your mouth and feel it in your gut, a wrenching pulling. Your heart is beating, and your head is pounding, and crying seems like a gut reaction to almost anything. Your hands are shaking, tremors in your personal emotional earthquake, and thoughts spin like they’ve been… Continue reading Day 56: Panic
It was the first thunderstorm of the year. The rain was drumming on the roof, pounding it, actually. Sheets of rain poured down, obscuring everything in a deluge of water. Thunder crashed; it rumbled and it screamed. Lightning flashed; it danced and it pranced in reply. Inside their house the family grinned as spring boomed… Continue reading Day 55: Drip
It’s soft. Giant, purple, thick. Rubbing your hands over it is like petting the softest leaves of lamb’s ear, or scratching the ears on a labrador. The fibers are thick; just the friction of movement produces heat. It makes you want to curl up, regress to your infantile state and forget your worries. I want… Continue reading Day 48: Fuzzy
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We were formed from the clay of the earth, and to the dirt we will one day return. The smudges on their foreheads- the faithful, walking, heads bowed, back into their pews for a quiet moment with their Lord. A reminder of our own insignificance, and the cycle of… Continue reading Day 41: Ashes