Monday, August 03, 2015

Portents


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.

4 comments:

Ygraine said...

Oh wow...so deeply evocative of the approaching storm: that stillness that comes before the storm...the mournful sight and sounds.
Oh this is fantastic...:)
xoxoxo

Dale said...

Thank you, Ygraine! I have missed writing and plan on continuing. It was quite an emotional roller coaster ride going over my posts from the past few years. Your words of encouragement are very welcome :) xx

Stevie said...

The birds are singing again...

Dale said...

and the days are getting longer!