Night becomes ordinary and is uneventful. An overcast relieves the sky of half its burden of stars. There is no moon. The dark trees seem weightless, hovering between invisible ground and vague heavens. The cold air is utterly still. No sound but my footsteps breaks the silence. Hours pass and nothing happens, nothing changes but the mottled pattern of the sky and the stars that emerge and are concealed, again and again. I think the world is slowing to a stop.
( Sunday Verse )
Sometimes I'm amused by the utterly expected.
( Sunday Verse )
Sometimes I'm amused by the utterly expected.