flatlands

Vultures soar silent over wide fallow fields. Orange ball sun scorches tips of trees. Furtive motion blurs forest and field. It is here we stalk along dried mud ridges. Your voice and mine tangled in fading grey light. And at the end wait our wood smoke dreams.

Previous Post
Next Post
Leave a comment

Thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

  • Recent Posts

  • Navigation Station

    The links along the top of the page are rudimentary attempts at trail markers. Otherwise, see below for more search and browse options.

  • In Search of Lost Time

  • Personal Taxonomy

  • Common Ground

  • Resources

  • BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS

%d bloggers like this: