Sunday, December 15, 2013

Lead gray sky, Sunday blues in full dark force, the world has that heavy quality as if any moment something horrible may happen, a palpable sense of ponderous waiting.

The wind whispers through the leaves of coming trial and tribulation.

I am glad not to know that language.


  1. The wind may whisper but you are right not to listen. It chemistry, dear Mary, you and me. No monsters in the trees or the bushes, just in the imagination. Better not to make them real (as I did yesterday). Sit very still and leave them to their own devices. I love you, and hope the day brightens from here.

  2. Beautiful poem, beautiful you.

  3. Angella- Chemistry. Yes. I believe this. And I needed you to tell me. You know and that's why I always believe what you tell me.
    Thank you.

    Lora- Oh honey. You. Thanks.

  4. I hate that thought of impending doom and if I weren't so prescient about such things, I would ignore it. But I am of the intuitive type who knows when something isn't right. And it sucks.


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