April 3

Weaving the Wildwood


The stream breathed the trees into being through the blue of dawn

Melding into the woven wildwood I waited for nothing in particular

Maybe a blackbird would regale me with tales of his spring

Maybe not

Whatever, the silence is solace enough

You may also like

Seeing the Small Things

Seeing the Small Things


  • {"email":"Email address invalid","url":"Website address invalid","required":"Required field missing"}