Sunday, September 26, 2010


I sat on a swing, on a porch six feet from the drop of a mountain.  Across the valley, blue on blue on violet brush strokes faded into the end of the world.   A fat black and yellow spider kept me company.    Morning filled the valley with solid white. Squirrels jumped from branch to branch, acorns crackled down the limbs. Hawks circled up and up until even with binoculars they were tiny specks against the blue white sky, expert at endlessly riding invisible therms. Humming birds greedily fought each other for the sugar syrup in the feeder. A huge, coral-colored moon washed away all but the brightest stars and hushed my breath. Waves of crisp cold air brought up the volume of the mountain night symphony and I played my part.

1 comment:

  1. Excellent writing. I could actually envision being there.