I couldn't live
My wife reminds me
every day
to not be so serious
to smile for her
This morning
a dusting of snow
Standing on the deck
in sandals
She takes a picture
Looking away but
smiling
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
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▼
2022
(201)
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▼
November
(16)
- Don't dwell on what has been lostbut rather think ...
- Thus
- The Trouble with Trouble
- The Hollows
- A People's History
- Close The Door On The Way In
- The Hunter in the Light
- On Urgency
- Open Door
- Dusting
- Tree Fingers
- Waiting for Sunrise
- The Box
- Eve of Birth
- Wandering down to the brown leaveswishing to rise ...
- Reading the leavesFinding phrasesDeciphering meaning
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▼
November
(16)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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