a different kind of beauty
shadows are like morning webs,
tangled in our downcast lashes and hushed lips,
at once beautiful and terrifying
there, by the rolling stones,
by the line in the sand,
and the needles in the hay–
that’s where i found you
words haunt her
This morning i walked outside and saw two mourning doves in the trees. There was also an uncharacteristically quiet blue jay flying about. It was early, the mist was rising from the snow. The sky was a light grey that contrasted with the tree silhouettes; nearly brutal in its definition.
It is a new day, what shall we make of it?
a tiny worm–
in its grand wormness
I have no words this week. Instead I’ll be posting some photos and save the words for another time.