I hope this finds you well. I find myself sleepless, under the wild eyes of Sirius . We have reached the Height . Everything now has peeked. The leaves and the harvest and the crab. And in November you will find your way home. Just as the hounds of winter chase away the clever Indian summer. But for now you just ramble , drifting on that deep blue wretched sea. This July has left me drunk on the memory of you where I am anchored in the pitching of your Chesapeake blues. I think of May when you left, bidding me not to cry. “ your tears mean nothing here girl, They are just a drop in the ocean.” I am your pastoral harbor, the woman forever waiting, on shore.
Comments
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... and more of the same ...
You seem to be entering the heart of sensation, the understanding of what makes us feel.
I'll be back to read this again. And, probably, again.
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A heart has fallen from the hinges it once knew so well, grafted it was for the seasons turned and turned and then came autumn and with that the soul did quiesce and a solemn dance was born.
I like it, I like it so!
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Wonderfull emotions are displayed here..Sooooo good, so tantlizing..Great imagery.. Your wording is effictive as well.You keep me attentive to your message..Good for you.You have talent
John
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This is, indeed, a superb piece of prose! No question about it! As Oliver said: "More, more please!"
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Superb prose, as beautiful as part 1; nicely done, keeep them coming
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More!
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and this a continuation of such a materful piece that lines the page with great emotions and powerful enlightenment.
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