Monday, August 03, 2015


Bird song, silent.
Sunrise, but a mere, soft lessening of the darkness.
Wind, not a breath sighs in the still.
Mournful, the train's distant call escapes, winding itself into the landscape, and is lost.
The storm, stealthy in her advance, waits not.

Saturday, August 01, 2015


Love at first sight?
If naught but a glance that caresses the soul,
pauses the heart and whispers, "come hither",
I believe.

Blue Moon

Glorious, she rises.
Creating ripples in black and white against the night.