Oddments

In search of story

December 16.19

4 Comments

Can you hear the nothing?

Does it have a name?

Is it stillness? No,

it’s not the same.

It lacks the breath

the stillness sighs,

it has no pulse,

nor lives nor dies.

The hollow air

and muted street,

in want of wings

and wheels and feet,

straddle worlds

of real and not

with fragile boundary

question-fraught.

Of substance there are

shapes and weights

King Winter’s touch

obliterates.

 

 

4 thoughts on “December 16.19

  1. Beautifully written and so true. In the middle of a storm, it is eerily quiet. šŸ™‚

  2. Thank you for so beautifully reminding me of the hush of a snowfall.

    • Thank you, Shirah! It’s so good to hear from you, as always! We are getting quite the winter look: one storm left its bounty last night, and another is starting any minute now and will do the same tonight. The trees are gorgeous; the driving, not so much. As you no doubt remember!

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