THE COLD FALLS DOWN OUT OF THE SKY LIKE A LIQUID THING, SEEPING IN. MY HOT BONES BURN IT BACK YET KNOW IT SHALL PREVAIL, IN THE END. Continue reading “~ Summer’s to Come ~”
Evening finds me here, sailboat-bike moored by the bench; the river half-fresh, half-sea, rolling upstream to High Water.
My mother’s earliest traceable ancestors on her mother’s side were Swedish, from Gothenburg. Perhaps I have some Viking blood somewhere.
Apart from a few farmers’ being a bit over-protective of their grass, I have never met anyone who doesn’t thrill to the sound of wild geese.
Dogs are so many things to so many people. We need not bother ourselves with that long list here – companions, guardians, helpers, finders… – it would take all day.
Too weak to continue in the sky the white bird came down, fierce but shaken, enraged by the dying light within.
Wanlockhead, the highest village in Scotland, nestles amidst the tops of the ice-cream scoops that are the Lead Hills – so named because of their once prodigious lead mines.
This is Penny and her beloved little dog, Otto. Otto is a little King, a Magician and a Mischievous Monkey!
He plays and runs like blonde lightning in his dashing way – almost a bird but not quite.
On this hilltop, invisible cat paws of summer wind bow the grasses – a moving sculpture of compliance.
It is the sound of breath, up close, advancing and retreating; the coming and going of an unending sigh. Continue reading “~ Wind of Voices ~”