almost soundless but for the dry paper rustle of old yellowed leaves.
the wind blows thin and unhurried. snow gathers into long gauzy tendrils that curl around tree trunk and footprint.
the evening drifts across the daysky and violet blue clouds gather on the horizon - snow tomorrow.
pale copper-orange triangles hover beneath the streetlights. my neighbour's roofs are sheathed in the pale white of old snow.
it's deep winter.
i miss the caress of a breeze from the south, the soft tickle of grass under my bare feet, the hushed rustling of deep green leaves.
4 comments:
Is this your writing, Steven? I love the combination of the words with the photographs ... calmness and serenity.
the pictures and the words are all from me. thanks for your nice comment goldenrod!!
Steven
I was pretty sure the photos were yours, Steven, and thought the words might be as well cuz - over the past few months - I feel as tho I have come to know you a little.
You have expressed some extraordinarily beautiful (imo) phraseology here ... "the caress of a breeze from the south" ... "the soft tickle of grass under my bare feet" ... "the hushed rustling of deep green leaves" ... ... makes me look eagerly forward to your next such post.
thanks for that goldenrod. "flow" (my other blog) tends towards more of my own writing and thinking and photography and every so often i allow some of that to drift into "the golden fish".
steven
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