Have you noticed of late the light is being used differently and the dark is settling into places it once feared to tread? The wind no longer whispers a name and water once turned to wine drips rust. My feelings are riding bareback on the red appaloosa that gallops the rolling hills of my dreams. Everything is as it was, the church doors are still locked but I can see through the stained glass, the altar is bleeding.
You might think I am frightened but fear does not penetrate loneliness. It is tricky ground. Do you remember the moss shawl that comforts my turned in shoulders? Today, I found my grandmother’s sewing scissors and cut the moss shawl, free. The term, “I am better now” is playing on repeat in my mind. I know that I am not better.
The washing is dancing with the breeze, and I think about pegging myself to the line. Do you think I am strange? Not just because I thought about pegging myself to the line. Oh for all the things I talk to you about.
I long to hear from you, I miss your stories.