Once a balloon, surely. Partially deflated, gruesome. Not human. Floating in the dream. Stuck in a box, that face, familiar of the dead, after the catafalque, before
A journalist trying to trade her hard-news writing style for something more creative. Hard slogging.
I love to cook, but I take special satisfaction in putting together luscious salads. Anytime. For any occasion. Or just to please my hunger. This post is for the Word Press Weekly Photo Challenge – Satisfaction. This one is an orzo base with
Fever pummels as carabiners clack, and humming cables sway magnificent in buried branches low and far below. Danger is not dropping to the ground in lieu of gliding down. Fear is the menace here, freezing synapses, stopping impulses that guide the limbs, impeding gravity that slides the body […]
He wore a pellegrina, purple trimmed. It looked like wings deflated by transgression
She wanted to touch it, that rust-caked, high rolled, weird wheel (remnant of a blown up grist mill?), sitting there like a steam punk manifesto. It had to be some misfit
I dreamed a mirror on a wall, attenuated strands of fire in the room, ice raining down. Three symbols, blurred in
She walks, timorous on snow soft spread on summer boardwalk, feet like hewn logs, tipped. Her
Monet’s Garden in Giverny, France had been on my bucket list for decades. I finally visited last fall and reveled in blooms bursting with color even as trees dropped their leaves and hay withered in the fields. This is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.